How Times Will Change
by WickerB
Summary: We all know how Harry's story goes. But what if the Marauders had lived after Lord Voldemort, and the Dream Team before? What if James was the Boy-Who-Lived, and Harry his ill-fated father?
1. James, 1991

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, but I own the idea and plot of this story. If someone else came up with this already, then I'll go ask his or her permission to continue this story.

Kudos to Silver Phoenix25 and my best friend (whose internet alias is a mystery), for beta-ing this chapter!

IMPORTANT NOTE: Okay, this is going to be a bit confusing, but please bear with me. Some people have changed places and or times, while others remain in the same roles as they were given in the books. As well, how some of the characters are related to each other will be changed, but hopefully nothing you would consider too drastic. Hopefully everything will be clearly sorted out, and I won't have to run from angry HP fans carrying torches and pitchforks, saying I ruined the book. Also, I haven't been in the Harry Potter section for a while, so if someone's already done this idea, please tell me. I'd hate to be a copy cat.

Enjoy, and R&R!

Cokeworth, 1991 

James Potter was living in an orphanage. He would never have chosen this, and if it were his choice he would still be living with his grandfather in their remote country house. Forget the fact that his Grandfather had died three years ago, and wasn't able to take care of him from his grave. So, Social Services had come, clucked over the lack-lustre state of the house, and how the seclusion could leave the poor little boy socially handicapped for the rest of his life. They had dragged James out of the house, who had been screaming at the top of his lungs in protest, to the orphanage. James had been eight years old then. Now, he was freshly eleven.

He must have looked fairly normal, for he didn't stand out enough from the other boys to be taken home with the countless families that came to Oak Street Children's Home. His hair was jet-black, and very messy, standing up in every direction conceivable. His black glasses framed hazel eyes, and rested on a slightly long nose. James was skinny, and short, but none of this ever really bothered him, or kept him from trying to play football with the other boys. The only really distinctive feature of his was a thin, lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead. He had no idea where it had come from; he had had it since before his first memory. James had asked his Grandfather about it several times, but the old man seemed to become mysteriously deaf when questioned. It only occurred to James later that his Grandfather was avoiding answering.

While he was living in the country house, he never minded the fact that his parents weren't there. His Grandfather had confirmed that they wouldn't be coming back. But at the orphanage, he now had a permanent pang in his chest every time another little boy or girl would be taken away. He started to wonder what his parents were like, and what had happened to them. Now it wasn't enough that there was a possibility that a family might take him in. He wanted his real family, he wanted to be where they were, and be their son. James had told the nurses this every time they told him to dress up for the family that was coming that afternoon. They simply shook their heads sadly and said that they couldn't find his family.

That was what made James frustrated the most. They couldn't find a single shred of evidence of his existence, not even a birth certificate or a photograph. Worst yet, they couldn't find any information on his family. It was almost as if he wasn't meant to be alive.

"James, why are you so upset about your family?" Mishailah Dean, a fellow orphan, would ask when he slipped into a sullen mood. "Everyone here's lost their family, and they don't mope about it for as long as you have. Just try to get a new family that will love you."

"They do love me!" James would fiercely retort. He was sure that they loved him - period. They had to be the most loving, wonderful parents in the world. He had imagined something about both of their personalities, what traits he had inherited from both of them, and why they had left. Unfortunately, he couldn't think up a reason for them to leave him and still be alive.

So, James had spent three years at the orphanage, inventing ideas about his parents and denying any negative comment about them. It didn't help that the children had a rhyme about people who have been at Oak Street for three years or more.

_If you're here for three whole years,_

_ Here you'll stay 'til legal beers._

Naturally, the thought that he would be stuck in the whitewashed orphanage until he was old enough to live on his own (which was, like the rhyme implied, near the same as the legal drinking age) horrified him to no end. Yet he knew, deep down inside, that he was likely fated for it. There wasn't a soul outside the building that knew anything about him. So, undoubtedly, it surprised him when he got a letter on the hottest day of summer.

He was sitting under the large oak tree in the backyard, hoping to relish the shade and not be bothered for at least half an hour, when a huge tawny owl suddenly swooped down on his sanctuary. This surprise attack was greeted with a rush of unprintable words, and an expression of shock. The owl landed on the ground a foot in front of him, and held out his leg, which, curiously, had a letter envelope attached to it.

Unsure, he reached out and untied it. The owl gave a thankful hoot and flew off again, leaving a puzzled James and a suspicious letter. James flipped it over and noticed that the letter was addressed to him, there could be no mistake.

_James Potter_

_Under the Large Oak Tree_

_Oak Street Children's Home_

_Cokeworth _

Tentatively, James looked around to see if anyone was watching him. Apparently, a group of thirteen-year-old boys had lit the contents of a garbage can on fire, and everyone was fretting over the fire and scolding the boys. James was concerned at first, but he saw that it wasn't a large fire and they now had everything under control. He doubted they had even witnessed the owl's descent.

He ripped apart the envelope, and hastily unfolded the contents. What he saw shocked him.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confed.__ Of Wizards)_

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_ We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at __Hogwarts__School__ of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed list of all necessary books and equipment._

_ Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July. _

_Yours sincerely,_

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

James' first thought was that this was some kind of trick, and he glared at the people around him. But not one of them was meeting his gaze, or snickering behind their hands, or in any way acting as a guilty party of pranksters would. James then thought that the one who sent him this might be watching through the window, waiting to see his reaction. Yet there wasn't a single face peeking out of the glass panes.

He felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. If it was pranksters, how could they train an owl, and how did they find one in the first place? There weren't any owls living near the orphanage, and it would be impossible to sneak one back from a field trip without being spotted by a supervisor.

Clutching the letter tightly, James jumped up and headed inside, searching for whoever was on duty at this time. He soon found a young woman surveying the playing three-year-olds with apprehension.

"Erm, Miss Ward?" James said, gaining the woman's attention.

"Yes, James?"

"I – er – got this letter," He held it out to her, "and I think that it might be a prank, or a trick of some sort." He watched her face fall as her eyes skimmed the page. She briefly looked at the other contents of the letter. Then she motioned for another passing supervisor to come over. James began to feel as if he was going to be punished, and immediately regretted his decision to show the letter to someone.

"McQuaid, look after the kids, I have to escort Mr. Potter to the Head Nurse," she instructed.

"All right," he said, looking suspiciously at James.

Miss Ward grabbed James' arm in a firm grip and nearly carried him down the hall. They arrived at a formidable looking door, or perhaps it just seemed that way to James, after all the times he had been put in there for deciding of his punishment for his latest deed. A metal framed nameplate at eye level on the door read:

_Miss Taylor_

_Head Nurse_

Still holding James by the arm, Miss Ward knocked briefly on the door and opened it.

A dumpy sort of woman looked up at them, blond hair neatly scrunched back into a braided bun, broad eyes accusing and intimidating.

"James, what did you do this time?" Taylor said knowingly.

"I –"

"He got a letter, Miss Taylor," Miss Ward said, placing it in front of the rotund woman. "It was just like the one you told us to watch out for."

This statement caused a sharp interested gleam in Taylor's eyes. James was nonplussed by now. This had to mean that it wasn't a vindictive kid at the orphanage. He watched closely as the Head Nurse read it twice over and held it up to the light.

After further inspection, she finally said, "Grendel, you're dismissed. I need to talk to James alone about this."

Doubtfully, she exited, leaving James alone with a woman large enough to swallow him whole. Of course, James wasn't in favour of this arrangement, but he could hardly just get up and walk out of the office without incurring the Head Nurse's wrath

"James, there's no doubt that you're confused about this whole mess," she said in what was intended to be a sympathetic tone, but she always did have trouble pulling off that aura.

James, seeing no other way to answer it, nodded.

"Did you receive this from an owl?" Another nod. "Well, I guess that makes it authentic."

"What? A school of _witchcraft and wizardry_? This has got to be some sort of joke," James blurted aloud. Taylor looked at him sternly.

"This isn't a joke, James. There really is a magic school called Hogwarts, and apparently, you're going to go there."

"You've got to be kidding," James concluded. This had to be a sick joke to get Taylor into it. Someone must really hate him.

"I never make jokes, James," she countered. "I've been here a long time, and I've seen all types of children come and go. I've had two other children get these letters before you."

"How long ago was that? Fifty years?" James said sarcastically.

"No wisecracking, James. I should have known that you would be one, too. With all the strange occurrences here, and you not knowing how any of it happened."

"You don't mean I'm a wizard," James said, mirth beginning to sound in his voice. He would have laughed, but past experience advised him against it. Miss Taylor could be extremely harsh in times of need.

"Yes, I do." James was starting to get a bit creeped out. Miss Taylor kept a straight face. She _never_ lied. Not once. Could it be possible that this was true?

"James, remember the time when you were being bullied by the older boys, and you were so angry about it? Then, without any warning, all the glass and ceramic around you suddenly shattered, and you had no idea what had happened?"

James remembered the incident like it was last week. One minute he felt white-hot anger pumping through him, and the next minute the windows and the pots on display broke with no provocation. He hadn't been able to convince any of the nurses that he didn't know why it had happened. He had been suspended from all outings for a month.

"I believe that that was your magic showing through. Similar things have happened with the same students that got that letter."

James was still unsure of this issue. "So I can magically break windows? Is that it? Or are they going to refine my technique so I can break into houses?"

"_James_." That silenced him. "I'm not sure what they teach, but all I know is that if we ignore the letter, they'll send someone over to fetch you. We can't have the same thing happening again. They sent this great bear of a man last time, and the younger children wouldn't sleep for weeks. And when the press found out, it was a disaster."

"I've heard enough," James said, getting up. Miss Taylor slapped her riding crop on her desk, producing a loud CRACK!

"You'll stay here, Potter. I'll reply to them in a letter, and you'll wait right here."

"But the letter said you'll need an owl-"

The Head Nurse looked up at him. "I won't need an owl, I'm sending it with you."

"What?"

Ignoring the boy, she scribbled down a reply in her tight handwriting. She folded it, and handed the letter to James, along with the contents of his Hogwarts letter. Then she opened a drawer of her desk and withdrew a little pot. It contained some sort of odd powder that looked unusual to James. Miss Taylor grabbed a handful of it and threw it in the fireplace, replacing the reddish flames with green.

"What the -?"

"Get in, James," she ordered. "This stuff's called Floo Powder. The wizard who came here gave some to me the last time he picked up a student, so that we could send any witches or wizards we received to them. You just stand in there and say 'Hogwarts', and it'll bring you there."

James stared open mouthed at the Head Nurse, a bit of fear replacing shock. "I am _not_ going deliberately into a fire. If you think you can get away with this-"

Miss Taylor rolled her eyes and grabbed his arm in a vice grip. James struggled, but it soon became apparent that her fat was disguising a large amount of muscle. She shoved him into the fire and shouted, "Say 'Hogwarts'!"

"HOGWARTS! HOGWARTS!" James shouted, out of panic more than anything else. He was utterly surprised when he instantly started spinning uncontrollably. His food was rolling inside him, and he was convinced he was going to vomit at any moment. He had a sudden flashback to the time he had put the stray cat in the glass-door dryer. The cat had spun around, and around…

All too quickly, he was lurched to his feet, the spinning had ceased. He stumbled out of a strange fireplace to what looked to be a room in a castle. James sank to his feet, waiting for the sickness to stop and to register the shock that he was not anywhere near Cokeworth. Only then did he realize that the fire hadn't hurt or burned him at all.

James was just getting to his feet, to have a good look around at the room when a voice addressed him.

"You'll be wanting to see the Headmaster, then, young lad?"

James looked up, but saw no one. His eyes narrowed; he could sense that there was something suspicious about the stone walled room.

"Over here!" said the voice. James whirled around to stare at the direction it came from. He was shocked to see a man in renaissance clothing waving to him from a painting on the wall.

"I – I…er…" James fumbled, but he was lost for words. There really _was_ a magical school called Hogwarts! How else could this painting be talking to him? Unless…

"What are you looking for, lad?"

"A projector," James said, waving a hand in front of the picture, hoping to make a shadow from the projection. It didn't.

"If that's something a Muggle made, you won't find it here! Too much magic about for those contraptions to work." James gulped. He was beginning to believe Miss Taylor.

"Wha- whasamuggle?"

"A Muggle is a person who doesn't have magic, lad," the painting man provided, "and from the sound of it, you were raised by Muggles. Would you like to see the Headmaster? He could most likely explain things better than I can."

James nodded numbly, and was once again surprised to see the man move out of his frame and into another picture.

"Come along then, you can follow me through the pictures."

The man led him on what seemed like a wild goose chase. Up one stair, down another, through never-ending corridors. During this time James began to worry.

What was the Headmaster like? Was he nice? Evil? What if they found out he wasn't the person they were looking for? What if he failed at the school? What if this really did turn out to be a cruel joke, and he had fallen for it? What if-

"Here we are, lad," the portrait man cut in, pulling James out of his own head. "The password's lemon drops, just say it to the Gargoyle, and he'll let you in." With that, the portrait man slunk out of the frame, leaving James alone with a forbidding gargoyle statue facing him.

"Lemon drops?" he said, and it jumped aside, putting an ornate staircase into view. Starting to think that nothing would be what it appeared, James started up the staircase, slowly though, due to the breathless race to keep up with the portrait man.

He came to a door at the top of the stairs, and for lack of another option, he opened it and stepped inside.

It was the most interesting room he had ever seen. Little anonymous devices were at work, puffing little tufts of smoke now and then and making curious sounds. There were several portraits of what must have been past Headmasters, all fast asleep; some of them snoring. Numerous objects were placed on shelves, including an old tatty pointed hat. At the desk was an elderly man, who looked exactly like how James had always imagined a wizard. A long beard, spectacles, a flowing robe and a wizard's hat were all present in this man. When he looked up at James, he saw the wizard had twinkling, kind blue eyes.

"Ah, yes, James Potter, I presume?" he said. There was something about him that made James relax.

"Yes."

He smiled. "Have a seat. I'm Albus Dumbledore."

"Hullo," James replied, finding himself smiling. All past worries were forgotten.

"You have a letter for me?"

James was puzzled for a second, then he remembered the note and his Hogwarts letter, forgotten in his clenched hand. "Oh! Here you are," he said, handing the papers to him. The wizard read them, smiled and looked back at James.

"I see you take after your father quite a bit, Mr. Potter."

James' interest was instantly raised. "You knew my father?"

"Yes," he said, sounding a bit sad for the first time. "I believe that is where we shall start. Or rather, where I should start to tell you about our world. The wizarding world."

* * *

James sat stunned in his chair. He, the scrawny boy with messy hair and glasses, was the only person in history of whom had survived the Killing Curse? And it was doubly surprising, because the person who had issued the curse in the first place had been one of the most powerful Dark Wizards of all time, Lord Voldemort? And his parents…

"God, I never knew what happened to them, and now I'm not sure if I wanted to know," James said quietly.

Dumbledore nodded sorrowfully. "I would have wished them a better death than they received. Your mother did not suffer from the Killing Curse, but your father was not given that mercy. He was hit with the Cruciatus Curse several times, and his body was never recovered from the ashes of the house. Harry Potter is assumed, most likely correctly, to be dead." Dumbledore shook his head. "Such a shame. He was an excellent pupil, and was indeed a good friend of mine. I didn't know your mother quite as well, but from what I could see, she was a wonderful person."

James was silent for a moment. His real parents sounded just like he had imagined them; kind, good hearted, and loving. But to know they had been murdered…If he hadn't known them, why was he feeling so hollow right now?

"I regret having you start your knowledge of the Wizarding world with such a tragic event, but it had to be done. On a lighter note, I think I shall send someone with you to do your shopping in Diagon Alley."

"What?"

"Diagon Alley. It is where you will be buying your school supplies," Dumbledore repeated.

"Would it be okay if I went to do my shopping alone?" James asked.

Dumbledore fixed him with a stare. "Are you sure? It would be much easier for you if you had a guide."

"No, I'll be fine," James assured. Dumbledore looked at him uncertainly.

"Very well then." He brought a fancy jar out of a drawer in his desk and held it out to James, who immediately recognized the contents.

"Floo Powder," he groaned. The Headmaster chuckled.

"I see you already know of this. I want you to take this jar with you. It has enough for three trips." Here Dumbledore took out James' list of school materials, and wrote some instructions on the bottom of it. He spoke aloud as he did so. "The first will be from here to Diagon Alley, to get your supplies. The second will be from Diagon Alley back to your orphanage, where you will spend the rest of your summer. The third shall be used no sooner or later than September 1st, and it will be from your orphanage to Platform 9 ¾ at King's Cross Train Station, but you'll only need to say Platform 9 ¾ when using the Floo Powder. You won't need to worry about finding the platform, because you'll be delivered directly to it."

"Why wouldn't I be able to find it?" James asked.

"Wizarding secrecy is of prime concern. We can't have Muggles stumbling onto magic."

"Oh, right." Dumbledore handed James back his list and a key.

"Once you get on the train, you can ask one of your fellow students how to get onto the platform normally. The key is for your Gringotts vault. Gringotts is the large white building on Diagon Alley, and it's the Wizarding Bank. Your parents left you a sufficient amount of money."

"Thanks, Professor," James said. He got up and was prepared to throw the Floo Powder into the fireplace when Dumbledore stopped him.

"James?"

"Yes?"

"The fate of your parents is a tragic one. They sacrificed themselves out of love for you. And while they are no longer beside you, they are, and always will be, within you." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled again at his last sentence. James decided he liked the Headmaster.

"Thank you," he said, his heart lifting a bit. Then, bracing himself, went on another journey through the green flames. He then decided that this was his least favourite way to travel.

* * *

Diagon Alley had been so intriguing to James, that he couldn't resist the urge to check out even the shops that didn't have things that were on his school list. He had been in Gringotts, the Apothecary, Flourish and Blotts, Ollivanders, and Eeylops Owl Emporium. His favourite store of all, however, had to be a place called Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

It was undoubtedly, as James discovered as soon as he had entered it, a joke shop. Filled to the brim with magical gags, pranks, and tricks enough to fill any boy's dreams. James felt as if he were in heaven. He loved pranks of all sorts and sizes, and was somewhat infamous for it at the orphanage.

No one was at the counter at the moment, but there was another boy who seemed to be around James' age, eagerly inspecting something called Canary Creams.

"Hello," James said. The boy turned to face him, and his face broke out into a large grin.

James could see the boy was dark haired with pale blue eyes, and had a cheery, mischievous look about him. Even though he was only eleven, his face held the promise of becoming very good-looking.

"Hi!" he said. "You new here?"

"Yeah," James said, finding himself smiling too. "I just found out I was a wizard today."

"Neat! You've been with Muggles this whole time?"

"Sure. You've been with wizards?"

"Yeah," he said, "my family is a load of prats though." He mimicked a high pitched voice. "_If you dare mention those low-down idiotic Muggles once more, I'll send you straight to Azkaban!_" He shook his head. "Bloody racist gits, the lot of them. Personally, I think Muggles are brilliant."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I'd like to be able to drive one of those moto-cycly things they have. But I wouldn't fancy being one."

"Why not?"

The boy gestured around him to the inventory of the shop. "Who'd want to miss out on all of this?"

James agreed with him.

"I'm Sirius Black, by the way," he said, looking at another item he had picked off the shelves, "who are you?"

"James Potter."

The reaction was instant – Sirius dropped whatever he had been holding, his eyes widened and he stumbled back a bit before catching his balance. He was now openly staring at the scar on James' forehead. "Wha – ha – what?"

James thought that if everyone else would react the same way as Sirius had, he'd rather keep his identity a secret.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, "I didn't mean to shock you."

"Damn!" Sirius swore. "I was standing right by a bloody legend all along! I mean, you do know you're famous, right?"

"Yeah, Dumbledore told me when he talked to me earlier," James provided.

"_Dumbledore_ came to you in _person_?!"

"No, actually," James replied, "I was just sent to Dumbledore. The Head Nurse at the orphanage told me I was a wizard. I thought she was mad, and then she threw some of that Floo Powder stuff into her fireplace, and then just shoved me into the fire and told me to say 'Hogwarts'."

Sirius laughed a little. "Bet that was a shocker," he said.

"It was. I thought she was trying to cook me. She's big enough to swallow me whole, after all." Both boys chuckled. Sirius seemed to be calming down.

"So," he said, a little hesitant, "do you…remember anything about – you know, _it_?"

James shook his head. "Not one little bit. I wish I could remember my parents, though. It would've made my stay at the orphanage a lot better."

"I thought you went to live with one of your grandparents?" Sirius said, "Your mother's father, I think."

"He died three years ago, and then Social Services found me and stuck me in the orphanage," James explained.

"That must be tough," Sirius said, "Can't imagine life without dear old mum, screaming at my back about proper wizarding pride." They both sniggered, but were rudely interrupted by a shrill shrieking coming from outside the store.

"_SIRIUS BLACK!_"

Both of them were so startled that they nearly fell over, and quickly jerked their heads to face the front of the store, to see a shadow through the translucent glass.

"Mum!" Sirius whispered, looking frantic. He dove to hide under a table. James, getting an ominous feeling from the figure, copied him.

BANG!

The door was slammed open before either one of them could hide themselves properly. A tall, thin woman which, from James' angle, resembled a vulture, strode angrily into the store, fuming. She bent down and snapped up again, bringing Sirius up with her from her rigid grip on his wrist.

"Mum, I-"

"Don't "_Mum, I-_" me!" she shouted, shaking him. "How many times have I told you not to even go near this place of scum! Do you know who owns this rat hole?!"

Sirius groaned. "The Weasleys, I know!"

"No, you don't know!" she shouted. "They're blood traitors, they are! Filthy Muggle lovers! What would your ancestors say if they caught you associating with these pieces of dirt?!"

"They're dead, Mum."

"DOES IT MATTER IF THEY'RE DEAD?" she bellowed, causing both boys to wince. "You've still got the family honor to uphold, boy! If you weren't my own son, I'd thrash you until you come to your senses!"

James, feeling more than a little sorry for Sirius, decided to try to help him. "Listen, Mrs. Black, he wasn't doing anything-"

"WASN'T DOING ANYTHING?!?!" Mrs. Black yelled dangerously, rounding on James. He suddenly felt very small. "He was only tarnishing his future and the Black reputation, and you call that _not doing anything?!_ Who are you to dare interfere? Stay out of this! I bet you're just a nosy Mudblood! You probably lured him here in the first place! If I ever see you near my son again I'll-"

"Mum," Sirius interjected frantically, "it wasn't his fault, I just met him here!"

"You open your mouth one more time, boy, and I'll smack you from here to Kingdom Come!"

Sirius looked at James, and shouted, "Run, James! Run while you still can!"

James immediately followed his advice, dashing for the door just as two red-headed men came in from the back door, apparently the owners of the shop.

As James left he called back to Sirius, "See you at Hogwarts!" He muttered under his breath, "If you survive." James was now beginning to see his life at the orphanage as a heavenly paradise, compared to what Sirius seemed to have to put up with. He could still hear Mrs. Black's shouts from down the street. She had apparently rounded on the shopkeepers.

Shaking his head, he walked towards the little pub with the fireplace, the Leaky Cauldron. He had all of his school supplies, and he didn't quite want to wait around for Mrs. Black to leave the store. After all, there was such a thing as Armageddon.

* * *

When James arrived back at Oak Street, Miss Taylor snatched away his school supplies and kept them hidden in her office, much to James' chagrin.

"We can't have any of the other children poking around at the stuff," she said matter-of-factly. "One of the other kids got a warning from some official or other for almost showing the others his books."

She did, however, allow James to read his school textbooks (as was required) if he read them in a little, secluded room that was off-limits to all other children.

He would often spend his time dreaming about what Hogwarts would be like, how fun it would be to use magic, what the other students were like, and which house he would be in. He had taken the liberty, since he knew next to nothing about the school, to buy a copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ at Flourish and Blotts, where he had read all about Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor. The book was all right, and had some more dry information, but some of it was truly intriguing. James was especially pleased when he found some records in the Quidditch section.

_ Youngest Player: Harry Potter, 11 years, Gryffindor, Seeker, 1969 _

_ Fastest Snitch Capture: Harry Potter, 10 seconds, Gryffindor, 1975_

If his father had played it, James was very curious to see a game of Quidditch indeed. The book did not explain the rules of the game, or much about it at all. There was just the Quidditch records, which had dates from only the past century.

He couldn't wait until he arrived at the castle, but he was also dreading the event as well. This was natural, after all, he had only found out about the magical world recently, he had no idea if he was any good at magic, and no idea about what Hogwarts was really like. He had read about it, of course, but that was never truly like experiencing the real thing. He also caught himself wondering if Sirius Black hadn't had his ears yelled off yet by his mother, and wondered if he would see him again. They hadn't talked long, or known each other well, but it would be nice to see a familiar face, even if he was a practical stranger.

James must have not realized the passing of time while he was daydreaming, because September 1st came faster than he anticipated.

Miss Ward had awoken him at around six o'clock, much earlier than the rest of the orphans. Still grumbling and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he took orders that she gave him straight from Miss Taylor: 'Pack whatever you want to take with you, preferably several changes of clothes, I've got your trunk and supplies ready.'

The nurse was still curious about the whole letter incident, and had kept on glancing back at him suspiciously. James barely noticed, he was more concerned about staying awake.

Miss Ward left him at the door of Miss Taylor's office, and the door was quickly opened to permit him through. The Head Nurse already had a fire going.

"It would be best if you left now, you could wait at the station for the train, and if it's already there, board it. This way we can explain to any curious kids here that you've been sent to a boarding school, and you won't be around for them to bother."

James still would have preferred to sleep in.

Taking out the Floo Powder reserve from Dumbledore, he cast it into the fire, and, bracing himself, took his luggage with him on another trip. When he came out, he had to clench his eyes shut and stand against the wall for a little while, re-cooperating.

When he had recovered, he surveyed his surroundings. The platform was mostly empty, except for a few workers chatting and drinking coffee. Near them was a scarlet coloured old fashioned train, a steam engine. James, feeling very out of place (not to mention lethargic), plucked up the courage to go talk to one of the workers. They seemed cheery enough.

"Erm- hello?" he called out, keeping a distance. They all looked up at him, and some of them grinned.

"You're a bit early, chap!" a raven-haired one said. "You're heading for Hogwarts, then?"

"Yes, can I go on the train?" James asked.

"Go right ahead!"

"Just make sure you get some sleep," a man beside him added, "you're right dead on your feet!"

"Thank you! I will!" James said, then clambered on and helped himself to the nearest compartment. He was excited about Hogwarts, but it wouldn't hurt to have a little nap…

Someone was poking him. James groaned and rolled over, but the poking became more persistent. Giving in, he opened a bleary eye, to be greeted with a familiar, reckless grin.

"Ahoy, he awakes!" said Sirius. He stopped poking him and put his hands on his hips. "We meet again, Boy-Who-Lived! You shall not escape this time!"

James smiled weakly. "Hello, Sirius."

"Boy-Who-Lived? As in _James Potter_?"

James sat up to spot a boy he had never seen before, staring at him in awe. He had watery, small eyes, and was very short. His nose was pointed, and there was something about him that reminded James vaguely of a rat.

"Who are you?" James said, yawning. Sirius looked at the boy.

"Oh," he said. "James, this is Peter Pettigrew, my new recruit. Peter, this is James Potter, the only man ever to escape my mother's wrath."

Peter stared at him.

"You're the – the – do you –scar?" Peter gasped. Apparently, he hadn't been expecting to meet him. James wasn't sure he liked this kind of attention.

"Yeah, I have it," he responded, raising his hair. Peter seemed even more rattled. Sirius looked at it casually, then took a seat.

"Wow," Peter squeaked, also sitting down. "I can't believe it! I mean, you're famous!"

"I never knew that until a month ago, actually," James said.

Peter looked slightly abashed. "I'm sorry. It's just that – well, it's not everyday that you meet someone that's famous, and I never thought that you would actually be talking to me…I mean, _nobody_ talks to me, especially not important people…" James felt a little sorry for the boy. It was obvious that Peter had a particularly low self esteem.

"I'm talking to you now, aren't I?" James said with an encouraging smile. That seemed to cheer Peter up considerably. "How'd you two meet?"

"We met just now, actually," Sirius provided. "A git by the name of Malfoy was bullying him, so I gave him a right hook and took Peter with me. He deserves to have a bloody lip at the Feast, picking on little people." Peter looked at him. "No offense, mate, but you are a bit titchy."

Peter shook his head in a twitchy fashion. "How did you two meet, then? Aren't you supposed to be living with Muggles? In an orphanage or something?"

"I was shopping in Diagon Alley," James said, "and I met him in the joke shop. We didn't get to talk for long though, his mother came in and yelled at him."

"She yelled at you, too," Sirius added. Peter sniggered at that statement, then quickly caught himself. He didn't seem too eager to get them mad. Sirius cocked an eyebrow. "Laugh all you want, I won't stop you. I know I would."

Taking that as a hint that the boys weren't suddenly going to have a spasm and try to strangle him, Peter opened up a little bit. When the train started moving, they started a more detailed conversation. They talked for a while about what Hogwarts would be like and Quidditch (they explained a bit more to James about it), when a new person entered the compartment.

It was a boy of around their age, only he looked like he was much more stressed and exhausted. Dark bags lurked under his eyes, and his light brown hair seemed slightly withered. When he saw the compartment was occupied, his face scrunched up in frustration.

"Aren't there any free compartments?" he complained, holding onto the door frame for support.

"Why?" Sirius said casually. "Do you have some sort of extremely contagious disease?" The boy blanched, and Sirius quickly retracted what he had said. "Just kidding! You can sit here if you want."

"No, I – uh – wouldn't want to disturb you or anything," he said, glancing nervously around.

"You're not disturbing anything," James said, "We're just having a highly secretive and exclusive meeting about our world domination plans, that's all." Sirius and Peter chuckled, and even the boy flashed a grin.

"World domination, huh?" he repeated. James was pleased to see him sit down.

"Yes," said Sirius, "our organization is called-"

"The Marauders!" Peter exclaimed.

"Excellent idea, Petey old boy!"

James began the introductions. "Our members so far are Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, and me, James Potter."

"Really?" he said, looking intently at James.

"Yeah," James said, not really wanting to dwell on the fact. "And who are you?"

"Remus Weasley."


	2. Harry, 1969

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, but I own the idea and plot of this story. If someone else came up with this already, then I'll go ask his or her permission to continue this story.

IMPORTANT A/N: Heh heh, I forgot to tell you in the first chapter that every even numbered chapter will follow Harry, and all the odd chapters will be with James. I should have said that earlier, especially now, since most of you wanted to know about the whole Remus Weasley thing. You'll find out next chapter. In the mean time, don't hurt me!

**A-man**: First and foremost, I'd like to thank you for being so nice about the criticisms you had for my story. Not only were they true, but you were respectful about how you explained it and didn't use any put downs, which seems to be most of the criticisms nowadays. Now that you've mentioned it, you're absolutely right. I do need to set up the differences between Harry's and James's characters. I'll start de-Harrying James in chapter three, and I'll work on adjusting the other Marauders too. However, they won't go about the Philosopher's stone issue the same way Harry did. In fact, none of the canon plots will be the same here, because they are dealing with different people in different circumstances. For example, in the books, Harry knew about the package that was stolen for the vault, because he was with Hagrid when he took the stone. James wasn't there at all, and so he doesn't guess that the break-in (if he does hear about it) has anything to do with Hogwarts. Even if he had, James might have investigated differently, like going straight to the forbidden corridor instead of hunting in the library and prying the truth from Hagrid. I hope you're assured that this will at least be a little different from the books.

Thanks to SilverPhoenix25, my lovely beta! Without that expertise, this story would be a smelly pile of crap.

_Potter Manor, 1969_

In a dusty, relic-ridden attic, a small framed boy with messy black hair was reading a leather bound book, his bright eyes scanning the pages. Most would dismiss it entirely, unless they had seen the title; _Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charmes_.

Some people would be quite unsettled by this; others would think it was rubbish. Yet it wasn't odd for the boy in any case, because he was a wizard. His name was Harry Potter, son of two reputable pure blood wizarding parents, and heir to the Potter family fortune. He didn't think much of this either. He had grown up around magic, so he was accustomed to it, and he didn't think it really mattered who your parents were or what bloodline they came from.

Harry Potter was short and slim for his age, which was eleven as of yesterday, and he had round black glasses. His eyes were a vibrant green, which were easily the dominant feature on his thin face. The wizard robes he wore were slightly too large for him, and were as black as his hair.

Sighing, Harry glanced around at the antiques cluttered around him, giving his eyes a break from the ridiculously small printing. The poor lighting of the attic didn't help much either, but where else was he going to read the book? His parents had warned him earlier that summer to avoid the book, seeing as it was some heirloom from a distant, thrice removed great-great-grandparent. If they caught him with it, he would most likely be banned from his broomstick for a month.

"Don't read it, Harry," his father had said, "you'll rip the pages."

"But I want to at least know something before I go to school."

"Everyone's starting from square one, just like you. And if you handle that book any more, it'll turn into dust before your eyes."

"Then why do you still have it if you can't read it?" Harry reasoned.

"It's for display."

"In the attic? Display?"

"It'll be worth something, someday."

"I'm sure," Harry said sarcastically, "books that crumble at the drop of a wand will be in real big demand soon."

His father had shaken his head, crossed between amusement and exasperation. "You just don't get the point."

So Harry had taken his 'studies' to the attic, and was beginning to get quite bored, as the book had little on hexes or curses, or anything else that sounded fun in general. But the book was only read through half-way, and he didn't expect to be disturbed for a bit of time, so he laboured on.

A tapping on the small attic window (also dusty) caught his attention. A pompous-looking tawny owl was strutting on the ledge, rattling the glass pane with its beak. Harry looked around the owl's feet and saw a letter envelope attached to its leg, addressed to him.

Untying it from the bird, he treated it with caution. His loopy Aunt Georgina often sent all manners of ill favours to her relatives, ranging from jinxes to snapping fly traps. The hand-writing in the address wasn't hers though, and it had a familiar seal on it. Once it was free of its binding, he skimmed over the letter, let out a loud whoop (which nearly scared the owl senseless) and bolted down the stairs to the sitting room.

"Mum! Dad! I've got my letter!" Harry called out, and two people in tall, cushy red armchairs looked up at him, smiling.

The first was a woman – Mrs. Potter. Harry had inherited her hair, which was trying to escape from behind her ears where she had attempted in vain to tuck away the black mess. Kind hazel eyes peeked out under dark lashes, and she had a slight build that never changed with even the most extensive of eating.

The second was Mr. Potter, who was tall and gangly. A head of short, brown-blond hair was set apart by extraordinary green eyes. Rectangle spectacles rested on his thin nose.

"You've got which letter, Harry?" said Mrs. Potter. She had a faint French accent that had faded with time, revealing that she had once been a foreigner.

"My letter to Hogwarts!"

Mr. Potter grinned even more. "Excellent!"

"Harry, I thought you agreed to going to Beauxbatons?" Mrs. Potter's face drew a small frown. She had wanted him to attend her old school in France, which, she had concluded, had a better curriculum than Hogwarts. Hearing some of the tales about the ghosts, poltergeists and singing suits of armor from Harry's father had helped her reach the decision that it was a rather ridiculous and unkempt school as well. Mrs. Potter had high hopes that her son Harry could become a true Frenchman, like her own father was. Harry, however, had different plans.

"But Mum, I want to go to Hogwarts," he protested. "All the people I know will be going there, and it's much closer." Seeing his mother's disapproval was remaining, he tried a different tactic. "I could learn French through an owl course. And we could always go to France on holidays or something."

Mr. Potter put an arm around his wife. "Come on, Natalie. He'll be fine at Hogwarts. It's a great school," he said encouragingly.

There was silence as Mrs. Potter seemed to be coming to a decision. Her arms were crossed and her eyebrows furrowed, staring at the mahogany buffet as she thought. Finally, she met Harry's gaze sternly.

"You promise to study your French every day?" she queried suspiciously.

"I promise," said Harry, crossing his fingers behind his back.

"I'll know if you don't, Harry."

"I will, I will!"

Mrs. Potter inhaled deeply through her nose. It was clear she didn't agree with this arrangement, but Harry was hoping against his mother's patriotism that she would let him go to Hogwarts.

"Yes."

Harry grinned brilliantly and stepped forward to give his mother a one-armed hug.

"Thanks, Mum," he said truthfully. "You're the best."

"But you must behave!"

"Only when you consider it worth your time."

"Jon!"

"Harry, run along before your mother explodes," Mr. Potter ordered.

Mrs. Potter's face began to blush crimson. "I am not going to explode!"

"You said that the last time."

* * *

Harry's shopping at Diagon Alley had been rather uneventful. Mr. Potter had flat out refused to buy him a broom ("First-years aren't allowed, so quit complaining."). He did, however, buy Harry an Exploding Snap set, a new game Harry had never heard of.

Two long weeks had to drag by before the first of September arrived, and even then getting ready to leave seemed to take an eternity. Firstly, breakfast was burnt, courtesy of his Mother's expert culinary skills, so Harry had to make due with a frigid muffin. Then they had to hastily stuff all of the supplies into his trunk when his cauldron alone took up half the space. Then their Muggle car, a rather fancy sports model, refused to start.

Travelling to the train station was rather hectic as well. His mother must have gone through the checklist with Harry at least three times before Mr. Potter had intervened. The traffic was as horrid as imaginable, and they were pelted with heavy rain halfway to their destination. Each had kept a close, glaring eye on their watches, but that failed to stop time in their favour.

As one would guess, they arrived fairly late at the platform. Mr. Potter was muttering curses under his breath, and Mrs. Potter was wringing her drenched hair. Harry was doing a combination of both.

"Next time, we're taking Floo Powder. I'll be damned if I want to drive through that bloody intersection one more time," Mr. Potter growled as he heaved Harry's trunk into a compartment, with Harry trying to help at the other end. "Should've hexed that Austin Mini into the ditch."

"Take care, sweetheart," Mrs. Potter said hurriedly as she gathered Harry into a hug. "I'll write to you often, alright?"

"Okay, Mum." Harry climbed onto the train, poking his head out the window as the doors clamped shut and the engine started. "See you later, Dad!"

"Have fun, Harry!"

He waved until his parents disappeared from view. He would miss them, of course, but the prospect of finally using his magic overrode that feeling. For now, he had to find some one to sit with. Sighing, he collected his baggage and trudged on, hoping to find someone he recognized.

He passed by compartment full of fifth-years he didn't know, another one with a large, surly-looking boy who seemed better to avoid than befriend, and a group of giggling Hufflepuff second-years. He was beginning to give up when he sighted a head of short red hair.

"Excuse me, are you one of the Weasley's?" Harry inquired, holding onto the door frame as he talked to the boy.

"Yeah, why?" the boy replied, glancing at him. He suddenly squinted at Harry, trying to get a better look. "Do I know you?"

"I'm Harry Potter. Our parents used to get together for tea all the time," Harry provided. He took the liberty to step a bit further into the compartment. A look of remembrance crossed the red head's face.

"That's right, I remember now," he said, "Fred and George tried to convince you that the family ghoul liked to be poked when I was five." He smiled mirthfully, though Harry groaned. Of course, that would be the first thing the boy would remember. Anything remotely embarrassing seemed to stick permanently in people's minds.

"Yeah, that was me," Harry replied glumly. "Can I sit here?"

"Sure."

Harry slumped into the seat gratefully, and heaved his trunk up beside him. Silence erupted between them as the minutes passed.

Harry decided to finally say something.

"You're the youngest boy, Ron, right?"

"Yeah," Ron said.

"Bet it's great, having all those brothers and sisters. You must never get lonely," Harry said.

"I wish I could get lonely once in a while," Ron said wistfully. "It's the worst, being the youngest. Besides my sister, Ginny – she's only a year younger. My brothers have done pretty much everything already, so there's nothing you can do that's really special. Mum expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it won't be a big deal, because they've already did it."

"I can see what you mean. But I haven't got any brothers or sisters at all. Must be tough for you," Harry added.

"Really?" Ron asked, turning to look out the window, "It must be brilliant, being an only child. Can't count how many times I've wished for that."

Harry shook his head. "It's not that great. It gets really boring sometimes, and it's not the same, trying to talk to your parents."

Ron seemed to think for a minute, and then responded. "I guess so."

There was silence for a few moments. Without any warning, a young girl around their age burst into the room, destroying the tranquility. A mound of bushy brown hair flew behind her as she strode purposefully into the compartment. She looked at both of the startled boys, and opened her mouth to speak, revealing two large front teeth.

"May I sit here? Everyone else is being so foolish, running about, giggling their heads off." She seated herself before either boy could interject, and brushed a branch from her jungle of hair out of her face. "It's all so fantastic, isn't it? I mean magic, of course. I never knew I was a witch until I got my letter. My parents were fairly surprised, naturally, but they're really proud of me after all. Especially when they found out all the sorts of things magic can do, when I let them read through some of my textbooks. I've already memorized them, I just hope it's enough. I'm Hermione Granger by the way, who are you?"

Harry and Ron blinked a couple times before they realized that they were suddenly included in the conversation. She looked at them placidly.

"I'm Ron Weasley," Ron said finally.

"And I'm Harry Potter."

She smiled, and nodded politely to each of them. "Nice to meet you. Are you new to magic too?"

"We're both from wizarding families," Ron said.

"Really? It must be fantastic. Do you know any spells?" Hermione's expression oozed enthusiasm.

"I don't know any yet," Harry confessed, partly from the truth and partly from the probability that Hermione would ask him to perform them. "Do you, Ron?"

He made a face and looked at his forlorn wand. "Mum says I'm not supposed to know any until I learn them in school. Not that they might work, anyway."

Hermione frowned. "Why wouldn't they?"

"This isn't my real wand," Ron replied glumly. "It was Charlie's first. It's supposed to be easier if you have your own wand. 'Spect I'm going to be horrible at Transfiguration with this old twig."

The wand spouted gold stars indignantly. Ron didn't look the least bit surprised.

"It keeps on doing that. I don't know why," he said, shrugging. "I reckon it's because it's nearly broken."

This time, Ron got a face-full of the sparkles.

At that moment, a trolley and a plump witch chose to enter, offering plenty of wizarding snacks to the three of them. Hermione looked warily at the selection, and carefully picked out only three pumpkin pastries. Harry bought several treats, planning to save some for later, but Ron hadn't bought anything.

"Here, Hermione, try some of these," Harry said, holding out some chocolate frogs. "Just make sure they don't jump away on you."

Hermione flushed a bit and reached out tentatively to take them. "Thank you," she said shyly, glancing at him with a little awe. Harry nodded, then noticed Ron was sitting in the corner, picking at an unappetizing sandwich.

"Have some of my candy, Ron." The boy looked uneasily at the sandwich, and without a second thought reached for the offered treats.

"Thanks."

Silence overcast conversation as they munched on the candy. After a while Hermione stood up and made her way to the door.

"I'm going to go change, you two had better too. And thanks again for the candy Harry. See you at Hogwarts!"

She turned on her heel and strode out of the room.

And then she poked her head back in, "Don't eat all that candy at once – you'll spoil your appetite for the feast." She left once again.

Ron furrowed his eyebrows at where she had disappeared. "I didn't need her to tell me that."

Harry shrugged, and continued his banquet with Ron.

"What card did you get?" Harry asked, gesturing to the empty chocolate frog package in Ron's lap.

"Agrippa."

"I got Merlin."

"Want to swap?

"Why not?"

"Did you say Merlin?" a voice asked. Both boys turned to see a girl with short, violently pink hair in her Hogwarts robes standing in the compartment door, looking at their cards with great interest. "I'm missing him. Mind trading for maybe, Morgaine? Or Flamel?"

Staring at her with just as much interest, Ron replied "You have Flamel?"

"Sure," she said, grinning. "How about it? My Flamel for your Merlin."

"It's my Merlin," Harry said quickly, holding out the card. "I'll trade you."

"Deal," she said, and they exchanged their cards. Ron looked disappointed. Noticing this, she sidled into an open seat and pulled a bulging velvet bag from her side pocket. Harry wondered how he hadn't seen the overstuffed pocket before, but he decided that her loud hairstyle must have distracted him. "I've got plenty more, you know. I'm a collector." She surveyed the two and grinned again. "Who am I doing business with here?"

"Ron Weasley."

"Harry Potter."

She nodded at them. "Tonks," she introduced herself, holding out her hand. "Just Tonks."

Both shook hands with Tonks, then fished out more cards from each of their trunks.

"Let's see your lot then," Harry said, spreading out his collection.

"Not bad," Ron said approvingly.

Much of the rest of the train ride was spent in swapping cards with each other, each one's collection growing substantially. Chatting with Tonks was fun as well; she had a wicked sense of humour and seemed very free-spirited (although one could have guessed from the colour of her hair).

In the middle of a trade of Harry's Ptolemy for Ron's Hengist of Woodcroft, Hermione decided to make another appearance.

"Harry, Ron are you –" she trailed off at the sight of Tonks, who winked at her.

"Wotcher," she said, tilting her head to the side. "Was I being too loud again?" Hermione only gaped at her.

"Wasn't your hair –"

"Green? Yes." Tonks ran a hand through her cropped mane, grinning even more. "I decided pink was more festive, seeing as it's the start of school and all. Can I help you?"

Hermione cast an apprehensive and somewhat sad glance at Harry and Ron. "No – no, it's no trouble. I'll just…um…find another compartment." With another look at the boys, she spun around and walked away.

"Prefect material, that one," Tonks said reflectively, "mark my words. She'll be one for sure."

"What was that all about?" Ron asked as he pulled out his robes from his trunk. Harry followed suit. Tonks waved it away.

"Not important. She just doesn't appreciate my loud way of fun, I suppose. Nice enough girl, but a little stiff, if you ask me." She gathered up her now larger collection of cards and got up to leave. "I'll let you boys change. Not that I'd be interested in peeking."

"Wait," Ron said, but she was already gone. He blinked. "Why was Hermione saying her hair was green before?"

"Maybe she carries dye with her?" Harry shrugged. "We'd better get changed.

The train arrived at Hogwarts a mere fifteen minutes later. The first-years, all nervous and excited, piled out of the train, looking a little lost. The other students seemed to be trickling off towards the castle, but a voice was calling them from the opposite direction.

"Firs' years, over this way! Firs' years!"

Feeling a little queasy, Harry followed the crowd as they edged towards the voice. They could see a lantern, and holding it had to be the largest man Harry had ever seen.

He was as tall as two men, and was easily four times as wide as Harry's father. A great, shaggy black beard covered most of his face, and his hair was identical. If it weren't for the kind, beetle black eyes peeking out from his mass of hair, he would have been fairly intimidating.

"Everyone here?" A couple of nods and some hesitant "Yeah"'s confirmed the answer, and he waved them to follow him. "Alrigh', come on this way, yer boats are righ' here."

A familiar drawling voice behind Harry whispered to his neighbour.

"I suppose that's Hagrid, the gamekeeper. He's a bit of a savage, from what I've heard. Gets drunk and tries to do magic."

He whirled around to see Draco Malfoy, another wizard from a pureblood family. He had a pointed, pale face and a slight build. His white-blond hair was slicked back, and his eyes were a steel grey.

Harry hadn't often met with Draco, but the few times they did see each other they had found reason to despise one another. The Malfoy's prided themselves on being purebloods, and assumed everyone who was not was below them. They were rich and stuck up, and Draco was no exception.

Harry narrowed his eyes. From the way Ron was glaring at Malfoy, it was apparent he was acquainted with him as well.

"Spreading rumors already, Malfoy?" Harry said coldly. Malfoy turned to face him and sneered.

"Hello, Potter. I didn't expect to see you here. So you're not a Squib after all, congratulations." He looked at Ron. "And a Weasley as well? I thought it was too expensive for your family to have another child go to a Muggle school, let alone Hogwarts."

Ron was positively seething now. Harry felt anger threatening to boil up inside him.

"Shove it, Malfoy. Being a git probably isn't good for your _precious_ reputation."

Malfoy glared daggers at Harry, and would have likely retorted or started a fight, if Hermione hadn't pushed through the crowd at that time.

"Harry, Ron, the boats have starting boarding. You don't want to miss them," she informed, and then moved past the boys, oblivious to the tension.

Ron shot another venomous glare at Malfoy, then made his way to the boats. Harry climbed in, noting that there were two other people in the boat. One was Tonks, who was grinning madly, and the other boy had a round face and was a little plump.

"Wotcher!" she said brightly as they climbed in. "Good to see you so soon again. I don't know who this boy is, he's too sick to tell me." The round faced boy nodded glumly, and was determinedly not looking at the water.

Harry couldn't blame him; the lake was a little shakier than could be expected. It was most likely the work of the ugly clouds overhead, brewing a start of term storm. Harry looked closer at the boy and recognized him.

"He's Neville Longbottom," Harry provided. Neville retched over the side of the boat. Ron crinkled his nose in disgust.

The rest of the trip went rather quickly. The boat rocked dangerously while they rowed, and Neville continued to look worse for wear. One small girl from a boat ahead of them had shrieked when she saw something move in the water.

"It was this great tentacle! Swept right past the boat!" she gibbered, pointing fervently at the lake's surface.

Finally, a gargantuan, beautiful castle came into view. Harry could make out tiny, lighted windows through the rain that had sprouted thickly.

"Alrigh', everyone dock up 'ere," Hagrid said. "Off ter the castle, now, don' dawdle."

No one wanted to; the rain had turned into an all out downpour, and they were rushed indoors. Hagrid led them to a stern looking woman with black hair pulled into a strict bun and emerald robes.

"All righ', Professor, they're all yers," Hagrid dismissed. Waving merrily to the students, he quickly exited.

A lot of the students looked scared under the intimidating glare. The witch gave off a distinct aura of discipline. She began to speak.

"Welcome to Hogwarts. Before the feast begins, you all must be Sorted into your houses. They are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each of the houses has certain traits they look for in students, and which house you are put in depends on which traits you possess. The houses will be something like your family while you are here. You will take classes with them, eat, and sleep with them. Your free time will be spent in the common rooms of your house as well.

"Each of your triumphs will earn your house points, and rule breaking will lose points. At the end of the year, the points will be totaled and the house with the most wins the House Cup and has the end of term banquet in their honour."

An excited murmur grew amongst some students at this prospect.

"I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly. In the meantime, I suggest you smarten yourselves up." She looked pointedly at Neville, who looked particularly ruffled.

When she had disappeared behind a door, the students began to chatter.

"How will we get Sorted?" seemed to be the main topic on everyone's minds. Theories flew around wildly, and what Harry caught from some of the snippets he heard from people around him, they were all quite ridiculous. He highly doubted that they would drop them from the ceiling and see what kind of magic they used to save themselves, or that they would empty all the first-years' memories into a Pensieve and examine them.

Harry leaned over to Ron. "My dad told me it's an enchanted hat that Sorts you."

"I hope so," Ron said, "Fred told me that we had to wrestle a troll, though I don't know how that'll tell us what house we're in."

The woman had come back, taking another surveying look at them. "We're ready for you now. Follow me." She turned on her heel and swiftly lead the very nervous first-years away.

The arrived in what had to be the biggest room Harry had ever seen. The ceiling looked like the sky outdoors, which explained the billowing black clouds. It could fit the whole of Potter Manor inside. Harry supposed this must be the Great Hall. There were four long tables, each packed with students and a banner waving overhead. He looked hopefully at Gryffindor, the scarlet and gold flag with a lion on it, the house his father had been in. He wished that that would be his house as well.

The staff table was at the head of the room, and he recognized only a few of its members; Albus Dumbledore, in particular, who had a long white beard and hair, half-moon glasses, and twinkling eyes.

On a stool in front of the room, there was a tattered old wizard's hat. Harry grinned at Ron, while the others settled for looking slightly puzzled. Suddenly, a rip in the brim of the hat opened wide and began to sing.

"_While I may not be much use_

_For any normal wear,_

_I'm an unusual sort of cap,_

_A hat beyond compare._

_I can tell who is who_

_And which belongs to where,_

_For I'm the Sorting Hat, you see,_

_Just set atop your hair. _

_If you are noble and courageous,_

_I have a house for you,_

_A place where valor is honoured most_

_Surely Gryffindor will do._

_Great minds will think alike,_

_And some of yours may too,_

_If you have wit and knowledge galore_

_Ravenclaw will see you through._

_The shrewd and cunning do belong_

_With those of similar kin_

_If nothing will deter your goals_

_I'll put you in Slytherin._

_Good-natured folks should stick together,_

_To not would be a sin_

_If you're loyal and hard working, well,_

_It's Hufflepuff you'll be in._

_Don't be shy, step up, step up!_

_I promise, I cannot bite._

_Just put me on, and I'll decide,_

_Which house for you is right."_

The whole hall echoed with enthusiastic applause. Many of the first-years were looking considerably relieved. Neville Longbottom appeared to have missed the message of the hat's song, as he had leaned over to Tonks and whispered, "What did it say?"

The witch took out a long piece of parchment. "When I call your name, you will come to the stool and put on the hat. After you are Sorted, you will go to the appropriate table," she instructed. "Abbot, Barbara!"

Harry watched as each person ran up to the hat and jammed it on their heads. Some were eager, and some looked quite unsettled. Hermione Granger nearly ran to the hat, and shoved it on her head. The hat seemed to be considering its options for a moment, for it was silent.

"GRYFFINDOR!" it shouted. Hermione happily ran off to the table with the gold banners. Harry heard Ron groan behind him.

The list went on, and they had finally arrived at the 'P' section. A knot had cleverly tied itself in Harry's stomach, and it grew with each name that passed.

"Patil, Agit!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Potter, Harry!"

Shaking madly, Harry stepped up to the stool. He gingerly picked up the hat and placed it on his hair. A buzzing voice sounded in his ear.

"Hmm…very loyal, yes… a fairly good mind, too…you've got ambition, I see…and plenty of bravery. You would do well in Slytherin, but you are in preference to Gryffindor, am I correct?"

Harry thought furiously. _Gryffindor! Not Slytherin! Please not Slytherin…_

"Alright then," concluded the hat, "GRYFFINDOR!"

There was cheering from the house, and the knot in Harry's stomach undid itself. He happily took off the hat and went to the Gryffindor table, where several people clapped him on the back and congratulated him. Smiling brilliantly, he waved at Ron, and watched the rest of the Sorting.

It seemed to take forever to get to the 'W's. Harry had his fingers crossed for Ron to be in Gryffindor.

"Weasley, Ron!"

A pause, and then – "GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry clapped very loudly amongst the cheers, and so did about three other redheaded boys, two of which he recognized as Fred and George, the Weasley twins. Ron came and sat down beside him, grinning from ear to ear.

"My whole family's in Gryffindor," he said proudly, "I was worried it was going to put me in Hufflepuff."

When the final student had at last been Sorted, the witch rolled up her scroll and carried off the stool and the hat. Professor Dumbledore stood up, and began to make his announcements.

"I regret to say that I must delay you from your feast a bit longer," he said mildly. "First-years will please note that the Forbidden Forest is off limits to all students. A number of items have been tallied and put on a list of Objects Forbidden Inside Hogwarts, too many of which can be said now. The list will be in our caretaker's office, if you should ever wish to view it. I am sad to note that the list contains nearly every item sold by our local joke supplier." A few groans around the Hall indicated that this was indeed quite tragic. The Weasley twins were looking absolutely mortified.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term, should you be interested in playing for your house teams, please contact Madam Lemay." He gestured to a haggard, shoddy-looking witch, who looked as if several poorly ridden broomsticks had bashed her in the face. She was glaring at all the first-years. "If that is all, which I believe it is, we shall begin our banquet."

Mountains of food had appeared on the table, and the students immediately dove in. There were all amounts of delicious foods, which would have normally been exceptionally tempting. To the ravenous pupils it was nothing short of irresistible.

People were chatting happily all around Harry, so it was difficult not to get caught up in the talk. He and Ron were talking about the last Quidditch World Cup when Harry heard someone addressing him.

"Oi, haven't I seen you before?" one of the twins asked, looking at Harry.

"Er, yeah," Harry said uneasily. He wasn't sure he trusted these two.

"Aren't you the one whose clothes we put paste in?" the other twin said.

"No, he was the one we put in the bucket, Fred. Remember? It took Mum and Dad ten minutes to get him out," said the first.

Ron butted in. "Harry's the one you made poke the ghoul, George."

"Oh yeah!" George said, grinning at Harry.

"Sorry 'bout that," Fred said, "We didn't know any good magical pranks back then, so we had to improvise."

"Thanks for the warning," Harry said sarcastically.

When Harry thought he could eat no more, the prefects were already starting to lead the first-years away to the Common Rooms. Getting in line behind a sandy-haired girl, Harry followed the train out of the Great Hall.

They were lead up several flights of stairs and three corridors. They came upon a portrait of a fat lady in a silk pink dress, where they stopped.

"The password is Bloomsbury," said Percy Weasley, another one of Ron's brothers, who was the prefect for Gryffindor. The portrait opened, and there was a hole large enough for a person to climb through left in its wake.

The first-years all climbed through, and found the Common Room to be quite cozy, decorated in scarlet and gold, with plenty of squishy sofas, armchairs, and little tables. There were two sets of staircases, and Percy told them that one led to the girl's dormitories, and the other to the boys.

Ron and Harry trudged up the stairs until they came upon a landing, and a door that read in peeling letters "First ears". They found the missing 'Y' lying forgotten in the carpet.

* * *

Harry soon found that he liked school, even if the assignments were particularly trying. He had always been fascinated by the spells his parents had performed at home, and had been eager to learn magic. His favourite teacher by the end of the week was Professor Cliff, a brunette with laughing eyes who taught Defense Against the Dark Arts. She always made even the dullest subjects bright, and teased every student in the class, who in turn teased her back.

It was unanimous, it seemed, among all the students in Hogwarts, that Professor Binns was the least popular teacher of all. He taught History of Magic, which could have possibly been slightly interesting had Binns not been directing the subject. He had a bushy, pointed white beard and tiny brown eyes, and his skin seemed to be sagging off of his bones. His boring voice seemed to lull everyone except Hermione to sleep. Ron told Harry that most of the students couldn't believe Binns was still alive, let alone teaching. He had to agree with them.

The witch that had led the Sorting turned out to be the Head of Gryffindor House, and taught Transfiguration. Her name was Professor McGonagall. Harry's first impression of her had been correct – she was indeed not one to cross. She felt no inclination to favour them, Head of Gryffindor as she was, which she made clear when Ron accidentally aimed for Suzanna Collins (the sandy-haired girl) with the spell they were learning instead of at the match.

Harry's dorm mates weren't bad either. Of course he and Ron were in the first-year's room, as well as Neville Longbottom (although how he had made it into the house of bravery was a complete conundrum). There were two others Harry hadn't met before; Kavis Jones, a dark haired boy more interested in drawing than making friends, and Taichi Ishida, a Japanese boy with an avid obsession with Quidditch.

Draco Malfoy had been wisely Sorted into Slytherin, and had made fast friends with a boy Harry hadn't met before. The boy had extremely greasy chin length black hair, and a large hooked nose. His eyes were cold and black, and he looked as pale as a vampire. Ron had heard of him, but only knew that his surname was Snape.

It also seemed that Hermione was now dorm mates with none other than Tonks, whose hair was now shoulder length and aquamarine blue. When Harry finally became curious enough, he asked her how she constantly changed her hair.

"I'm a Metamorphagus, dear chap," she replied in a stiff, elderly voice. "I can change into whatever I want to be." Tonks promptly altered her nose to look like a pig's snout.

"Can you teach me?" Harry asked excitedly.

"Sorry, natural talent only," she explained. "Still can't change my eyes without ending up blind, though. I need to work on changing some other parts, too."

She practiced her unique talent during class time. Not only did the teachers tell her to stop distracting the other students by molding all the professor's faces together into what she affectionately called the "Super Faculty", but Hermione told her off for disrespecting the staff.

Hermione hadn't made any friends at all. She sat alone at dinner, in the library, and always got left with Neville when it came to picking partners. When Harry heard the reason why, he felt a little guilty.

"She's such a know-it-all! How can anyone be so bossy?" people would say. However cruel it might be to say, it was true. Every time the class was asked a question, she'd be waving her hand in the air impatiently, and she would always get it right. Hermione had told off the Gryffindors for misbehaving in class a number of times as well, and it was quite annoying. Although Harry was a little ashamed for not standing up for her, he did agree with the other students.

He and Ron were surprised one day when Hermione caught up to them while walking to their next class.

"Hello!" she said brightly. "May I walk with you?"

Ron hesitated, then nodded.

Hermione chattered happily to them all the way to class, with Harry and Ron only nodding a every one in a while, not sure what to make of this. She sat down next to them in class, and even followed them to the Great Hall and sat down beside them, chattering happily about lessons while they nodded unsurely. This continued throughout the whole day, with some questioning looks from other classmates and even a few professors. Harry and Ron were just as confused as everyone else by this sudden tag along, so they managed to ask her once they were in the Common Room working on homework.

Hermione suddenly looked very downhearted. "I'm sorry if I was bothering you, then," she said apologetically, "It's just that – well, no one really wants to be my friend. They all say horrible things about me behind my back. It's really like how it was in Muggle school, and I didn't have any friends there, either. I don't like feeling alone here, even if this is a magic school and the subjects are fascinating. You two are the only ones who have been half decent to me. I mean, you treated me nicely on the train and all…" she trailed off, picking at her parchment. "If you want, I – I'll just go sit somewhere else."

This wasn't news to Harry, but it made him feel even worse. From the look on Ron's face, he felt a bit bad as well. That made up Harry's mind.

"Listen, you can hang around with us," Harry said encouragingly. Hermione looked up at him and started to smile. "Maybe the only reason they say mean things about you is because you're a bit too – er, bossy, no offense."

"Yes," she replied thoughtfully, "I suppose I am."

"Well, you could just, you know, tone it down," Ron suggested. "Not saying you should let people get away with bullying or anything, just to lay off a bit."

Hermione's grin spread widely across her face. "I'll do my best."


	3. James, 1991

Disclaimer: I don't own anything except for the plot and idea of this story. And Volcano Vittles. The rest is Rowling's.

Sorry about the wait, everyone. I've been very distracted and I had to work this summer, so I didn't get much time to work on this. And now the fourth chapter is giving me writer's block. Urrgg....

_Hogwarts Express, 1991_

"Welcome to the first Marauder's meeting, Remus," Peter said.

"So, besides world domination, what else are we discussing?" queried Remus. Sirius looked from James to Peter, and then shrugged.

"No clue. We were talking about which house would be the best, I think," he said casually, slouching in his seat. "We're thinking Gryffindor. How about you?"

"Gryffindor, too," Remus replied quickly. "Both my parents were in there."

"Who are your parents?"

"My Mum's name is Hermione Granger-Weasley."

Peter shot up in his seat. "No way!" James looked curiously at him and Sirius, who looked quite interested as well. Remus sighed, clearly used to the attention, and nodded. Peter's eyes widened. "So your dad is – "

"Ron Weasley," Remus provided. Sirius and Peter looked at each other meaningfully. James felt a little annoyed.

"What are you going on about?" he asked. Sirius glanced at him.

"Oh, right," he said, "you probably wouldn't know about it yet."

"About what?" James insisted.

"I'll tell him, seeing as how I would know the most about it," Remus said shortly. "My mother and father were your dad's best friends at Hogwarts." James sat up straighter. "They got married and had me, obviously. But just before You-Know-Who, er, attacked you, my dad disappeared. He didn't leave any traces of himself. Just vanished into thin air. I never got to know him." Remus sounded a bit sad. James nodded; he knew exactly how the boy felt.

"The odd thing is, the same thing happened to my Aunt Ginny a couple of years earlier, just after she left Hogwarts. No one has a clue about where either of them went. Some say that he went to be a Death Eater, but that's a load of dung. Mum's a Muggle-born, and if he had any prejudices against the like, he wouldn't have married her. That, and he personally caught several Death Eaters, which wouldn't be something he would do if he were on their side." He looked out the window. "Mum's famous now, because she writes all sorts of useful books. Half of our textbooks were written by her."

"I thought I recognized her name on the list," Sirius said. He reached inside his bag and pulled out a textbook, and flipped to the back. "That's her, isn't it?" He showed it to Remus, who nodded and smiled.

"That's her, alright."

Sirius nodded too, looking at the picture. "Not bad."

"Hey!"

"Just joking! She's much too old for me." He tossed the book to James.

Smiling up at him from the last page was a woman, who seemed to be in her thirties. She was fairly pretty, and would have been more so if not for a cloud of bushy brown hair that hung from her head. James passed the book on to Peter.

"So she knew both my parents?" James asked curiously.

"Both of," Remus corrected. "She didn't know your mother well, although she does have a couple pictures of her."

"What did she look like?"

Remus furrowed his eyebrows. "I can't remember exactly. Maybe I'll tell Mum to send me a picture."

"Do you think she could send me a couple of my dad, too?" James said eagerly.

"Sure," Remus said. "She'd probably want to give you some anyway, you being her best friend's son and all." He looked to the other boys. "Who are your parents?"

Peter answered first. "Janell and Richard Pettigrew."

"Never heard of them," Remus said.

"They don't get around much. I think they're hiding from the rest of the world, personally," Peter said.

"I'm a Black, and I hate my family," Sirius concluded. "So I don't consider it worthwhile to think about them as parents."

Remus shook his head. "I'm glad you turned out alright. From what I've heard, most of them are pure-blood lunatics. No offense."

Sirius waved a dismissing hand. "None taken. You've heard right."

A portly witch with a trolley full of snacks came into their compartment. "Would you boys like anything to eat?" she inquired. Remus and Sirius dug into their pockets to pull out the gold coins called galleons. Peter did the same, but soon found that he had no money with him. James didn't either.

The two boys bought a wide variety of candies between the two of them, and offered some to James and Peter. James realized exactly how hungry he was, having missed both lunch and breakfast.

James found some of the candy to be slightly odd. There were Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans, which contained some beans that tasted horribly like sardines, grass, yogurt, and dust. There were chocolate frogs, and pumpkin pasties, and Fizzing Whizbees, and several others that James didn't even bother memorizing the names of. The strangest one had to be a box of Volcano Vittles, which looked like tiny cherry-coloured pebbles. Sirius dared James to put a handful into his mouth, and Remus and Peter let out a snort.

"With a name like volcano, I don't think that's a good idea," James replied smartly. "I would have to see you try it first." That wiped the smile off of Sirius' face.

"But I dared you! You have to!" Sirius protested. James shook his head stubbornly. Sirius tried again. "How about we do it at the same time?"

James considered it, and agreed. Remus was chuckling and shaking his head.

"You two are in for it," was all he had to say.

Sirius and James each scooped up a handful of the treats. On Peter's count of three, they would swallow.

"One...Two..." He paused. "Three!"

Both boys shoved the candy into their mouths. At first nothing happened, but then James had the oddest sensation.

It felt like hundreds of small explosions were going off in his mouth. It was soon replaced by the sensation of millions of sugar crystals shooting about and off his cheeks. Some of the rocks were still popping, and James' cheeks were quickly bloated with the pressure of the explosions and the ever expanding amount of sugar. His eyes began to water and he felt his face redden. When he felt that he could no longer hold the candy, he quickly grabbed an empty candy bag and opened his mouth. A river of dry, colourful, powdered candy poured out. From what he could hear, Sirius was doing the same.

When he could finally use his mouth again, the bag was completely filled with the sugar. "What _was_ that?"

Sirius was still coughing when he answered. "Volcano Vittles. They explode in your mouth, and leave you with this powder candy stuff. Two at once is bad enough, but a whole handful is just too much."

"Eat the powder stuff, James," Peter instructed. "It won't explode anymore. It tastes really good, actually. You can get different flavours, too."

Doubtful, James poured a small mount into his still burning mouth. It tasted like fruit punch. "It's sort of like the Muggle Pixy Stix," he said. They looked at him curiously. "It's a Muggle candy. I had some when my grandfather took me to Canada on a holiday once. Don't know if you can get them in Britain."

"Do they explode?" Remus asked.

"No. You just get the powdered sugar in these long tubes."

They continued talking for a while, until a group of violently red-haired people came through the compartment. They surveyed the boys and one of them pointed at Remus, who looked as if he was trying shrink into the seat.

"There's Remy!" one girl said, and enveloped him in a tight hug. Remus looked mortified.

"Cassey, get off!" he said. She did. The whole group grinned at him.

Remus groaned. "Meet the infamous Weasley clan. My cousins."

"Hi," said Cassey. She had curly, dark red hair that reached her shoulders, and a bright grin. "I see you've made some little friends?" Remus was acutely embarrassed.

"They're not little," he countered, "We're only a year younger than you are."

"Pish, posh," said another girl. She and a blond boy were the only ones without red hair. She had a darker complexion, and brown-black hair with cornrows. "You're still the baby of the family." Remus buried his face in his hands.

"We were just coming to see if you hadn't gone off to sulk again, or bury yourself in a book," the blond boy said. He was the tallest, and had plenty of freckles dotting his nose. "Good thing you found some people to relate to. Otherwise we were going to whisk you off to our compartment."

"Heaven forbid," Remus said glumly.

"You behave now, you hear?" the dark girl said, and they filed out of the place, leaving their cousin as red as their hair.

"Poor Remy," Sirius said, patting him on the head. "Were your cousins bothering you?" he said in a mock motherly tone.

"One more peep out of you, and I'll put you in with your cousins," Remus said.

Soon afterwards, they all decided to get their Hogwarts robes on, because they were fairly confident that they would be arriving soon.

Their guess was accurate, because only a few minutes later the train pulled into a station and the students piled off. The first-years were shepherded away by a man so large and wide James could see him clearly above the throng of pupils.

Sirius pointed out the boy who had been picking on Peter earlier, called Lucius Malfoy. He was far in front of them, so all James could spot was a head of long white-blond hair. Remus said he had known him too, and advised all three to stay away from him.

"His father's a creep, and he's just as bad. Mr. Malfoy takes any opportunity he can to insult my mum for being a Muggle-born."

The other three were calling out to other witches and wizards they knew, but James wasn't paying attention. His mind was on a redheaded girl near them.

"Sirius," he said, his eyes never moving from their target. The black-haired boy turned around. "Who is that girl with the red hair?" Sirius looked around until he saw her.

"Her?" He pointed, and James nodded. "No clue. Probably a Muggle-born, or one of Remus' cousins. Hey, Remus!"

But Remus didn't know her, and neither did Peter.

"Why are you so curious about her, James?" Remus questioned, but he simply shrugged. Just when James was prepared to ask her himself, the large man's voice boomed into his thoughts.

"Firs' years, this way! On ter the boats, now," he instructed.

The four boys all climbed into one boat and began to row off. James tried to see the red-haired girl again, but he couldn't see her among any of the other boats. Shrugging, he put his mind back to rowing.

"Where are we going?" Sirius asked suddenly.

Peter looked around. "I think we're just supposed to follow the giant guy."

Uncertainly, they kept on the man's trail until from behind the trees sprung a huge, glittering castle.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," Remus said under his breath.

* * *

They had been led at first by Hagrid (which James had been informed was the large man's name) into the castle, then by a stern professor called McGonagall into a side room from the enormous and elaborate Entrance Hall. She then proceeded to give them a speech about Hogwarts, its four houses, and the House Points deduction system. James, having read all about this in his book, let his mind start to wander again.

He sighted a flash of red-hair, and instantly recognized the girl he had seen earlier. He could see part of her face now. She was very pretty, from the looks of it, especially when it came to her eyes. They were a brilliant emerald green.

He wanted to go ask for her name, but McGonagall was still talking, and she was very severe looking. He supposed he could wait and see which house she was Sorted in, that way he could find out her name and something about who she was.

Remus' attention had wavered, as had Sirius'. Peter was still being very attentive to the speech, most likely out of fear for being caught doing otherwise.

Sirius was waving at a moving portrait, which was in turn waving back, and Remus elbowed James in the ribs.

"Ow! What?" James whispered. Remus jerked his thumb over to a blond girl who possessed an elegant air about her. She was staring at James' forehead pointedly.

"I think you have a fan over there," he hissed. James met the girl's gaze, but she tossed her long hair and looked back at McGonagall. She was now wearing a sort of distasteful sneer.

"I hope not," James replied, "she doesn't look like a nice sort."

Finally, the professor had wrapped up her speech, and told the first-years to wait until she came back. The students began to chat nervously. One voice overrode them all.

"Are you James Potter?"

It was the blond girl. She was looking into his eyes now. Everyone else had gone silent.

"Pardon?" James repeated. He wasn't so sure he liked this girl.

"Are you or are you not James Potter?" She repeated. Many of the first-years were staring avidly at him now with – was that _respect_?

"Yes," James said. "Why do you ask?"

A murmur of excitement grew amongst the children, and this somehow lifted a happy bubble inside up James. They now rested their eyes upon his scar.

"You're famous," she said evenly. She began to walk towards him. "Didn't you know?"

"Yes, he knew, Narcissa," Sirius interrupted suddenly. "Leave him alone."

She ignored him. "What are you doing with Sirius? Or that Weasley riff-raff?" James felt Remus bristling beside him. "Have you no pride in your reputation?"

James glared at her. "I'll be friends with whoever I want. Why should I listen to you?" he said coolly.

Her sneer returned, and she somehow managed to look down at him despite being two inches shorter. "It figures. Your father was a stuck-up Gryffindor as well, Potter. You take after him from what I've heard, skulking about with blood traitors." She looked at Peter, who was taken aback by her sudden attention. "I don't even know who you are, but I suspect you're just as bad as the other two. A shrinking coward, from the looks of it."

"Shut-up, Narcissa," Sirius said nonchalantly. "You're making a fool of yourself. If being a blood traitor means getting away from you, I'm all for it."

She inhaled an angry breath and scowled. Narcissa retreated to the other side of the crowd, where she whispered with another girl who had an equally unpleasant look on her face. Slowly, but surely, the talk resumed, but James had a distinct impression that the topic was now him.

"Why is he famous?" he heard the red headed girl say. A weird pang set off inside his chest. _She doesn't know about me? Must be a Muggleborn._ "What's so special about this Potter boy? And what did she mean, 'Blood Traitor'?"

James focused on Sirius. "You know that girl?"

"My cousin. Most of them are like that, actually. I reckon you should stay clear of most people with the last name Black," Sirius stated. "Although Nymphadora's alright," he added as an afterthought. "Too bad she's not in school anymore."

"I'm just glad she doesn't know me," Peter said timidly. "She was already right about me being a coward."

"I'm sure you're not that bad, Peter," Remus reassured him. Peter glowed at him.

Several people screamed, and James whipped his head around to see what was the matter. His jaw dropped.

Pearly white and oddly luminescent, twenty ghosts had just floated casually through the wall. They seemed to be conversing deeply. One ghost, who had the appearance of a fat monk was saying, "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance-"

Another in a ruff and tights cut him off impatiently. "My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost – I say, what are you all doing here?" He had just noticed their group, and now all the ghosts were looking at them.

"New students!" exclaimed the Fat Friar jovially, "About to be Sorted, I suppose?" A couple of nods were the only response. "Hope to see you in Hufflepuff. My old house, you know."

McGonagall came in once more. "Move along now," she ordered, "the Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Excitement and apprehension bubbled in James' stomach, and it seemed neither was agreeing with the Volcano Vittle powder he had eaten earlier. The first-years formed a sloppy line, and stepped through the door.

It was a gigantic hall, with four long tables filled with students and a shorter table with what must have been the staff. The ceiling looked like the sky just outside, which was slightly cloudy with a few stars, twinkling like jewels. In the front of the hall was a stool with a desolate looking hat on it.

All heads were angled to look at the hat expectantly, which seemed fairly odd to James. Deciding that there must be something important about it, he stared at it as well.

To James' surprise, a rip on the brim of the hat opened wide and began to sing.

"_Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_

_But don't judge on what you see,_

_I'll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black,_

_Your top hats sleek and tall,_

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all._

_There's nothing hidden in your head_

_The Sorting Hat can't see,_

_So try me on and I will tell you_

_Where you ought to be_

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where dwell the brave at heart,_

_Their daring, nerve and chivalry_

_Set Gryffindors apart;_

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

_Where they are just and loyal,_

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

_And unafraid of toil;_

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

_If you've a ready mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning,_

_Will always find their kind;_

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You'll make your real friends,_

_Those cunning folk use any means_

_To achieve their own ends._

_So put me on! Don't be afraid!_

_You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I'm a thinking Cap!_"

There was a tumult of applause when the hat finished its song. As it ended, McGonagall took out a scroll of parchment and unrolled it swiftly. She fixed the first-years with a firm gaze.

"When I call your name," she instructed, "you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted."

"Aaron, Timothy!" was the first to be called up. Slowly, each one of the students were summoned up to the stool and tried on the hat, which shouted out the name of the house it had decided to place the student in. They would then run to their house table, indicated by the colourful banners hanging above them. Gryffindor's was scarlet and gold, Ravenclaw's was blue and white, Hufflepuff's was yellow and black, and Sytherin had green and sliver. It took longer with some students than others for the hat to decide.

"Black, Narcissa!"

It was no great shock that she was immediately sorted into Slytherin, where there was much cheering at her arrival.

"Black, Sirius!"

James watched as the boy walked coolly up to the stool, only his white face showing his true feelings. The hat sat atop his black hair for but two moments when it shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Sirius flung off the hat and sat down happily at the Gryffindor table, where the students were a bit shocked at the novelty of a Black being in their house, but soon greeted him very warmly. He gave a thumbs up to James, and turned his attention to the girl now sitting on the stool. James had, however, noticed whispers of outrage from the Slytherin table.

"Bones, Susan" became a Hufflepuff, but "Boot, Terry" joined the Ravenclaws.

The list sped down the C's, and there was only a handful of the D's.

"Evans, Lily!"

James was surprised to see the pretty red headed girl walk forth and jab the hat on her head. The hat thought for a little while, before deciding on "GRYFFINDOR!"

James had, of course, been set on that particular house since he had read _Hogwarts: A History_, but now was even more inclined because of Sirius and Lily's sorting. He knew it wasn't very likely, but he hoped that Remus and Peter were also put in Gryffindor, despite the fact that Peter had Hufflepuff stamped across his forehead.

"Malfoy, Lucius!"

Up close, James could see that he had cold grey eyes and a pale face. The hat had barely touched a hair on his head when it shouted, "SLYTHERIN!" He sauntered off to the table, where several Slytherin students greeted him gladly.

James' stomach rolled over and over again as the list went on. It was taking an eternity to get to the P's.

"Palmer, Mallory!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Patil, Padma!"

"RAVENCLAW!

"Patil, Parvati!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Pettigrew, Peter!"

The boy shyly stepped up to the stool, occasionally twitching. James was sure that he had a hiccough. The hat came on to the end of his nose. A few moments passed by slowly by, and then the brim widened once more and shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Excellent, thought James, as Peter received a clap on the back from Sirius. Now, if only I can get into Gryffindor...

"Potter, James!"

The stool came closer and closer as James approached it, trembling. He heard wild whispers from the crowd of students, and he managed to glimpse several heads leaning in his direction, their eyes squinted, trying to get a good look at him. But it disappeared as the hat fell over James' eyes.

A little buzzing voice sounded in his ears. "Hmm," it said. James suddenly didn't like the idea of some magical being prodding his brain. "A bit uncomfortable, are you? Not to worry, all first-years are. But where shall I put you?"

_Gryffindor_, James thought as hard as he could. _Gryffindor!_

"Yes, I know that you would rather be in Gryffindor, but please be patient. I have the decision, after all. Hmm, you're very loyal, and eager, oh yes, very eager. Fairly good mind, and plenty of courage. Perhaps you were right. You belong in GRYFFINDOR!"

A very large burst of applause came from the tables as James joyously set down the hat, but none so loud as his new house. A dozen people leaned forward to shake his hand excitedly. Grinning wildly, he shook every one of them, and placed himself between Sirius and Peter, who were clapping the hardest.

James looked up at Remus, who smiled very weakly in return. He looked sicklier than ever.

Years seemed to passed as a mass of students were Sorted, and Remus was second to last.

"Weasley, Remus!" cried McGonagall.

Taking his cue, Remus went forward, and stiffly put the hat on, as if firmly resolving to not shake with fear. The hat was silent. James was getting impatient.

He could see Remus' lips moving, but he couldn't understand what was being spoken. After some extensive muttering on Remus' part, the Hat made a decision.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

James beckoned Remus to take a seat beside him. He was blushing wildly while the Gryffindors applauded him happily. "Zambini, Blaise" was made a Slytherin and Dumbledore stood up to make a speech.

"Welcome!" He said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

There was much clapping at his nonsense words. James looked at his three friends for an explanation. Sirius merely shrugged. Then the food appeared on the table.

There were so many delicious meats and salads and fruits and desserts that James could scarcely count them all. He scooped as much of the food onto his plate as he felt he could hold and proceeded to stuff his face. There was never any food this good at the Oak Street cafeteria. His drink was an unfamiliar, sweet tasting juice, which was a great improvement on the sour milk he was used to.

"Remus, what took so long under that hat, anyway?" Sirius asked between mouthfuls. Remus' ears went as redder than his cousins' hair.

"I – It tried to put me in Ravenclaw," he said nervously. "I convinced it to put me in Gryffindor, that's all."

While Peter seemed content with this explanation, James and Sirius exchanged curious glances. What was that embarrassing, or secretive, about which house Remus could be Sorted into?

When all the students seemed to have had a fair share of the wondrous food, Dumbledore stood up once more. The hall went silent.

"Ahem – just a few more words now we are all fed and watered. I have a few start of term notices to give you.

"First-years should note that the forest in the grounds is forbidden to all pupils."

James caught Sirius grinning mischievously from the corner of his eye. He felt the sudden urge to explore the forest, against all logic.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Whispers fluttered around the room as the students digested this information. Only a handful of people laughed.

"What would they keep in the school that's that dangerous?" Peter squeaked, his small eyes darting about.

"And why?" Remus asked suspiciously.

* * *

James felt very much like a celebrity during his first few days of school. People gazed at him when he walked by, or began whispering and pointing. Somehow, this really didn't bother him. It was more reassuring than unnerving, since they admired him, rather than hated. It was an extra boost of confidence to know that he was at least somewhat popular, particularly with the Gryffindors.

It appeared, however, that plenty of people weren't too proud of Sirius' Sorting. The very first day of classes, an owl had come for Sirius during breakfast, and had dropped off a smoking, red letter. The boy had blanched, and reluctantly opened it.

There was such a loud roar of a sound that James had thought that his eardrums had exploded. The Hall had gone completely silent. Then a shriek sounded that could only have issued forth from one person.

"_SIRIUS ORION BLACK!_"

Sirius' mother.

"_HOW DARE YOU LET THAT WICKED HAT SORT YOU INTO GRYFFINDOR!? DO YOU REALIZE THE RUCKUS YOU HAVE CAUSED? YOUR FATHER IS READY TO GO STRAIGHT TO SCHOOL AND TEACH YOU A LESSON YOU'LL NEVER FORGET! I DEMAND THAT YOU REQUEST TO TRANSFER TO SLYTHERIN!_"

Everyone was staring at Sirius, who had his fists clenched and whose face was pale, no longer from shock, but from rage. Peter had his hands pressed firmly against his ears, and Remus was shrinking into his seat, sending apathetic glances in Sirius' direction.

"_ONLY BLOOD TRAITORS AND MUDBLOODS ARE IN GRYFFINDOR! DO YOU KNOW WHAT KIND OF BAD INFLUENCES YOU COULD ENCOUNTER? YOU'LL TARNISH THE BLACK FAMILY REPUTATION, BOY! WHAT EFFECT DO YOU THINK THIS COULD HAVE ON YOUR BROTHER?! BEFORE I KNOW IT, YOU'LL BE PARADING AROUND WITH THOSE VILE PIECES OF SCUM, AND MIXING IN WITH MUGGLES! IF YOU DON'T TRANSFER TO SLYTHERIN THIS INSTANT, WE WILL BRING YOU HOME AND YOU WON'T LEARN ABOUT MAGIC AT ALL!_"

With that said and done, the letter burst into flames, leaving only a pile of ash to tell of its presence. Everyone was still, and watching Sirius, most with apprehension, some with pity, but others (the Slytherins in particular) with satisfaction. Sirius was too livid to do anything for a few moments. He just sat there, breathing hard through his nose.

Finally, he brought out a piece of parchment and a quill from his bag, and wrote a response. Only James, Peter and Remus could see what he had put down.

_Dear Mother_

_Sod off._

_Sirius_

James watched as Sirius folded the letter and left the table, going to the Owlery. As soon as he had left the Great Hall, people began asking in loud shouts what he had written. It was Remus who shyly answered.

"He told her to sod off," he said. Most of them grinned at this, and said things like, "The old bat deserved it," and "Poor kid, he should get a medal for putting up with that," or "Who does she think she is, insulting Muggle-borns in a Howler? That's an offense, that is!" James noticed that only the Slytherins had nothing to say aloud; they were all muttering darkly with each other.

James turned to Remus and Peter. "I'll go find Sirius, we'll catch up with you two later." They nodded, and he picked up his bag and walked swiftly towards the Owlery.

He found Sirius, just sending off an owl with his letter. He was still seething. When he saw James, he motioned for him to join him. James obeyed.

"It's bad enough that she does it at home," he said, glaring out the window, "but she has to rub it in my face when I'm at school, or in public even. She's going to be right behind me for the rest of my bloody life, screaming about the family honour and purity of blood, and all the other _stupid_ things-"Sirius ranted, his voice getting harsher with every word.

"Listen, she isn't in charge of your life," James said quickly, not wanting his friend to start yelling. "You are who you want to be. She's just too stupid to see that she can't control you. Besides, it's not like you'll be with her for the rest of your life. You can act however you like at Hogwarts, and once you finish school, you can leave her forever." Sirius looked at his feet.

"I know," he said quietly. "It's just so frustrating. She won't leave me alone for one second. I hate her. I really do." He was looking at James now. "And don't give me that 'But she's your Mother!" dung, because I don't care. She's horrible, to everyone."

"I wasn't going to," James confirmed. He nodded.

"Good." Sirius started walking. "I'm going to do whatever I want to do, and I'm going to ignore everything she says. Mum is not going to control me here, like she did when I was a kid." He now sounded like he was talking to himself. James said nothing as they continued on to classes.

Sirius' troubles weren't going to end there, unfortunately. The next day, a gang of Slytherins from several different years cornered the four boys. Narcissa Black and a large burly boy, who had been identified later as Gregory Goyle, grabbed a struggling Sirius' arms and pulled him away.

"What do you think you're doing!?" James demanded, getting his wand out, Peter and Remus copying his actions. He stood no chance in a fist fight with most of these people, and knew no spells that would be of any use, but he had to do something.

The Slytherins glared at him. "We're going to give him a little talk, Potter," Narcissa spat venomously. "About how a _proper_ Black should behave."

Sirius wrenched his arms out of their grips and rounded on his cousin. "Do you think I give a bloody damn about how a Black should behave?! I don't care what you or anybody else thinks! You're just sad, with your pathetic Pureblood mania, thinking you're better than everyone else is just because you happened to be born a Black! Any Muggle is worth ten of you!"

Narcissa's cheeks had flushed crimson. The bigger boys of the group cracked their knuckles ominously.

"How dare you," Narcissa hissed, "you brat, you blood traitor...you don't deserve to be a Black, you stupid Mudblood lover-"

SMACK!

Sirius had slapped her square across her cheek. Remus looked surprised, and Peter and James cheered.

"Don't you _ever_ say that word again," Sirius threatened. Narcissa looked at him, shocked, and the others were too astonished to do anything. Sirius turned to walk away.

"ARGH!" Narcissa shrieked as she jumped right onto Sirius, knocking him to the ground. He quickly retaliated, punching her in the face. She kicked him, and he threw her on the floor.

"Fight!" someone was shouting – a crowd had now formed around the two, who were kicking, clawing, punching, and maiming one another in any way possible. Goyle had moved forward to help Narcissa, but James had jumped on his back, holding his neck with one arm and boxing his ears with the other.

There was a loud BANG, and all that had been fighting were suddenly blown apart. James looked around and saw that many people had joined in – the whole Slytherin gang, of course, and Remus, and some Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws who had been moments before just observers. Peter had been standing aside, watching the fight avidly, but now he looked afraid.

James quickly spotted the one who had separated the brawl. He was a sour faced, pallid professor, who couldn't possibly look any more horrible. His black hair was extremely greasy, and he had harsh black eyes and a large, hooked nose. He was looking coldly at the display before him.

"Who started this disgusting display of violence?" he said softly, but his voice had a distinct biting edge in it. James was instantly reminded of a snake.

The Slytherins pointed at Sirius, while all the others accused Narcissa. The man's mouth curled into a cruel smile.

"I see," he said. "A little inter-house brawl, perhaps? A fight with three against one? Hardly fair, I assure you."

"That's not what happened!" James protested. The professor glared him straight in the eye with an unfathomable hatred. "They were going to beat on Sirius for being a Gryffindor, and he was trying to get away! But they-"

"1 point from Gryffindor for your cheek Potter," the professor said venomously. "I hadn't asked for your - shall we say - spiced version of the events. Don't assume your fame can get you through anything. Lying will do you no good." James was about to retort a heated reply, but Remus clamped a hand over his mouth. "Miss Black, what happened?"

Narcissa looked more smug than one should be with a red cheek and a split lip. "We were just going to talk to him, Professor Snape, he _is_ my cousin, after all, and they got mad at us. Sirius is still mad about that Howler, and he and his friends decided to take it out on us, because they thought we felt the same way." Sirius made an indignant noise. Narcissa ignored him. "Sirius hit me, and then they called in the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws to help them fight us." She put on a disgusting pouting look. "You won't punish us for trying to defend ourselves, right, Professor?"

Snape smiled at her, but it somehow remained sinister. "Of course not, Miss Black. I suggest you and your friends report to the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey will be able to heal you all immediately." He rounded on the rest of the students. "Let's see now – 5 Ravenclaws, 6 Hufflepuffs, and 3 Gryffindors." His smile turned upwards nastily. "That will be 20 points from Ravenclaw, 30 for Hufflepuff, and 15 for Gryffindor."  
Curses and groans issued from the students.

"In addition," He stared pointedly at Sirius and James, "Mr. Black and Mr. Potter will each receive a week of detentions for initiating the conflict."

Sirius looked ready to tell Snape to shove something very large up his arse, but Remus gave him a scolding look, and he held it in. The Professor swooped away, and the students slowly gathered themselves up and headed to their classes, trying to ignore the jeers of Narcissa and her group. But no one felt as horrible as James and Sirius.

"Don't worry about Snape," Remus assured, "He's a biased git. My cousins are always complaining about how unfair he is. He favours Slytherin, everyone knows that."

"No one will blame you," Peter said half-heartedly. "I hope."


	4. Harry, 1969

The next two weeks at Hogwarts went by quite pleasantly, thank you very much. No longer insufferable, but still a know-it-all, Hermione warmed up to both Harry and Ron more than expected (although she flat out refused to let them see her answers to the homework). Their friendship caused some confusion amongst their respective roommates. The boys didn't see the point of being friends with a girl who wasn't a tomboy, and the girls in Hermione's dorm were shocked that she had made any friends at all. But they let them alone, having more concerns with the tiresome school days than the matters of their peers.

This day in particular was carrying on very slowly, with another boring Potions class. The only thing that was mildly interesting was Professor Jumega's voice, which had a twang like a banjo in it.

"Class, please prepare me a Hallucination Potion using the ingredients on the board," he said, "I trust our previous notes will be sufficient in helping you make it." With that said, he sunk into his seat, put his long, gangly legs on his desk and fell asleep, his shock of black hair falling neatly into place. Absolutely everything about his appearance was completely orderly, an appearance, tragically, that he did not bother to extend to his classroom.

Knowing that he would awake at the slightest sound of mischief from previous experience, the class reluctantly took out their cauldrons and began their work.

"Ron!" Hermione hissed.

"Just a minute," he said, dropping in three pieces of the Venomous Tentacula Root he had just cut into eighths. Hermione squeaked.

"You're supposed to cut the root into quarters!" she whispered fearfully. "And you have to put the Beozar in at the same time!"

"What?!" Ron exclaimed, looking in at his potion. Harry, curious, copied him.

What was previously a red potion now had somehow shriveled into what looked like a large orange prune. Ron crinkled his nose at the lump.

"How did it turn solid?" Ron queried, poking the former potion. Suddenly, large billows of brown smoke burst forth from the shriveled pouch. Several people screamed – the smoke filled the room in an instant. Colours danced about in the smoke, resembling the Northern Lights. The sounds of students crashing into desks, chairs, and each other ricocheted around the classroom.

"What – _what_?" They heard Professor Jumega's voice over the racket. He swore very loudly, and then he banished the smoke. The first things Harry saw were a bunch of bottles lying in shards on the floor, and his classmates either on the floor or with their arms out, blinking at the sudden loss of the fog. Jumega was absolutely livid beyond belief. His face was a sizzling red, and his eyes were wide and insane. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides.

"_Who did this_!" he spat venomously. "What _imbecile_ could _possibly_ mess up such a _simple potion_!"

Ron was trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible. Draco Malfoy raised his hand.

"Weasley did it, Professor," he stated, gloating, a smirk unfolding on his face. "He added in the ingredients wrong, I saw him."

Ron's mouth was ajar, staring at Malfoy in indignant disbelief. An indistinct sound gurgled from his throat.

Jumega turned his vengeful glare upon Ron. "You?" he hissed. "You! You will have detention for a week, if I can manage it, a month! Your idiocy is a shame to this class!"

Malfoy's greasy-haired friend raised his hand and spoke. "Professor, I think that Weasley should receive extra homework to help him study Potions. It could also be an extra punishment for not paying attention to the instructions."

Ron looked ready to tell the boy to shut up with a few choice words. Hermione gripped his arm as tightly as she could, stopping him.

Jumega did not smile, but he did calm down considerably. "Yes," he said slowly, breathing deeply, "That's a good suggestion, Severus. Ron will have extra homework for punishment as well."

Ron's face now resembled a hot pepper. Satisfied with their handiwork, Malfoy and Snape smirked at him, smarmy as ever.

Jumega regained his composure and concluded the class. "There will be no homework tonight, with the exception of Ron. Class dismissed."

He sauntered into his office, and the students picked up their books and left. Ron was moving very stiffly, and he kept his eyes on the backs of the two Slytherins on the way to the Great Hall.

"Ron, you aren't going to – try to get revenge, are you?" Hermione questioned.

"I never even talked to that greasy-haired git!" Ron exclaimed. He slammed himself down onto the bench and glared into space. "I've never done anything to either of them, and they go and land me in a pile of dung. Bloody Slytherins." He jabbed his fork into a piece of chicken and shoved it on his plate. Hermione chewed her lip nervously.

"Slytherins have hated Gryffindor for ages," Harry said. "It's no secret that they go out of their way to make trouble for the rest of us. They probably just see you as another Gryffindor."

"Not Malfoy," Ron said bitterly. "He's known me for ages. I'm telling you, he's got it in for me."

"Just try your best to ignore them," Hermione advised. "They're not worth your time if they're going to be that way."

Ron snorted.

"Maybe I can help you with your Potions homework," she said. Ron looked at her interestedly. "I won't do it for you – but I could help you with it."

"All right."

"Good. I have the perfect place to brew the potion," Hermione said, "Meet me at the girl's toilets on the first floor after supper. I'll bring the textbook and the cauldron, you two bring the ingredients."

"A girl's toilet?"

"Oh, don't be silly, Harry," Hermione chided, "No one goes in there anymore."

"Why not?" Harry asked. "Someone pop their clogs in there?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," Hermione answered. She took one last bite of her meal and carried off her books, presumably heading for the library.

"I was only joking," Harry said, nonplussed.

* * *

After a hearty meal, which Ron thoroughly enjoyed ("Honestly, can the food get _any_ better?"), they followed Hermione down several twists of corridors. Quite unexpectedly, Harry stepped in something wet, and saw that the entire floor was drenched in water.

"What happened here?" Ron asked, now splashing with every step in the massive puddle.

"Myrtle must have flooded the bathroom again," Hermione replied nonchalantly.

"Who's Myrtle?" Harry asked.

Hermione stopped abruptly in front of a door at the end of the soaked corridor. "Myrtle haunts the toilets. She's really sulky, and wails most of the time. When she's really upset, she floods the loo." Hermione sighed. "We'll just have to try our best not to upset her. Myrtle's madly sensitive, so it's near impossible not to get her blubbering. Just don't talk about her being dead, and we should be fine."

Ron and Harry exchanged doubtful glances, but soon shrugged and followed Hermione. Upon entry they saw a squat ghost girl sulking by the sinks. She was covered with spots, and had thick opalescent spectacles magnifying her gloomy eyes. She looked at them suspiciously.

"Why are they here?" she queried. "They're boys, tell them to use their own toilets."

"We're not here to use the toilets Myrtle, we're here to use the potions," Hermione said. "Besides, we can't use the toilets because you've flooded-"

"Oh, I see," Myrtle interrupted, glowering. "My toilets aren't good enough for you. Nobody wants to even come here, because Myrtle's made the toilets all flood again! And who wants to even be around Moaning Myrtle anyway?"

"Well, it'd be a bit uncomfortable having to go with you floating around, you know?" Ron said awkwardly.

"So you think I peek on people!" she shouted furiously. Ron recoiled, mortified.

"No, I-"

"Or is it because you think I'm horrid that you don't want me around, is that it?" Tears welled up in her eyes. "Nobody ever liked me, not even when I was alive!" She let out a mournful wail and flew into a cubicle. The door slammed shut. They could hear her tragically sobbing.

Ron and Harry stood stunned. Hermione sighed.

"That's Myrtle for you. You'll get used to it eventually."

She led them to an open cubicle, where she had stored a cauldron, a potions text and some ingredients, all set out and ready to use. She even had the forethought to set them on a wooden slat, which kept them safe from Myrtle's flood. Hermione picked up the book and flipped through the pages.

"Why don't we start with the Hallucination potion, since that's the one you're having the trouble with," she suggested.

The moments ticked by slowly for Harry as he diced all manners of stuff to mix in with the bubbling mass before him. There were at least a hundred other things he'd rather be doing with his time than brewing potions. Not only was it smelling like cabbage ("Yes, Ron, it is supposed to smell that way, now pay attention"), but he had been splattered numerous times with as the bubbles popped. After only a half hour of work, his hands were beyond filthy.

"Hermione, can I just go wash my hands?" he asked. She sighed.

"Quickly, Harry, we're going to need you in a moment."

Harry approached a sink and turned the tap on, but no water came out. He tried again more forcefully, but the sink remained dry.

"That tap's never worked." Harry spun around to face Moaning Myrtle. She had apparently finished her blubbering.

"Is it broken?" Harry bent down to look at the pipe underneath it.

"Just use the next one, Harry," Ron advised. "If you try to fix it, it might end up shooting more water out."

Harry, however, had found something interesting. On the side of one of the copper taps there was a tiny scratched image of a snake.

"Someone's scratched a snake on the tap," Harry announced.

"Probably just some grafitti, Harry," Hermione said nonchalantly. "Just finish washing your hands and get back here, we're going to need you soon."

Harry took one last glance at the snake and moved on to the next sink.

* * *

Ron, for what was probably going to be a first and last ever in potions class, was smug. His brew had equaled Hermione's, and Jumega even complimented his obvious improvement. And with Snape and Malfoy seething like mad, Harry couldn't help but feel a little smug as well. Hermione positively beamed at Ron.

"You're doing so wonderfully!" she whispered excitedly. "Maybe we should think about continuing the tutoring after you've finished your extra work."

"Er- "It was obvious that Ron didn't want to take on any more work than he had to.

"It couldn't hurt," Hermione badgered him, "Potions is a high priority subject, you know."

"Only if Harry takes lessons with me," Ron decided quickly.

"Done!"

"Hey!"

Hermione beamed at Harry. "Don't fret, it'll be fun! Besides, you could use some help too, you know."

Harry just shot a dark look at Ron, who grinned, and slumped a little in his seat. He despised Potions.

* * *

So Harry found himself back in a cubicle in the girl's toilets that night, mixing another concoction for the sake of Ron's grades. And Harry wasn't about to let him forget it.

Ron wasn't happy to be brewing away, either. He kept on checking his watch and asking Hermione how much longer the potion would take. Her only response was a sniff and a vague, disapproving answer.

"For goodness' sakes, Ron, it won't take that long. I'd thought you would care more about some extra study. After all, Potions _is_ an important lesson, you know."

"Sure, right," was Ron's dull reply.

After chopping wormwood for what seemed like an hour, Harry, quite frustrated, scooped up the whole lot and tossed it into the cauldron nonchalantly. Hermione, who had been consulting the text book, turned around to face a violently bubbling potion.

"No! What did you do!" she shrieked, bringing her hands to her cheeks. "Quick! Pour it out! Get rid of it!" As she shouted, splatters of the brew hit their faces as large bubbles popped with increasing ferocity.

Harry grabbed for the cauldron and ran to the nearest sink – the one with the broken taps. He dumped the mix in, dropping the pot in the sink when it had run dry.

Everything was still for a moment. They could hear the potion gurgling down the pipe, and then –

BANG!

The pot came at them like a torpedo, followed by the shrapnel that had once been sink, pipe, and wall. Harry fell on his rear as the cloud of porcelain dust enveloped him. He heard Hermione let out a short scream, and a muffled thud told him that the pot had collided with someone's head. Bits of pipe scraped his skin as they flew by, and some embedded themselves into Harry.

The onslaught ended in a split second, the cloud of porcelain dust settling on the ground. Harry sat up and winced; some of the metal had cut through his shirt and nested on his stomach. He pulled them out easily – they hadn't cut him deep, quite fortunately. Harry looked behind him, hoping that his friends were all right.

Hermione wasn't that bad. She had received less of the pipe bits that Harry had, and was painfully extracting them. Ron, however, sported a large blotch on his forehead – most likely from the pot that was lying crumpled and useless beside him. His bruise was fast turning a nasty purple and he seemed a bit dazed, but other than that Ron looked relatively unharmed.

"You two feeling all right?" Harry asked. Hermione nodded, and Ron looked at Harry with unfocused eyes and shrugged hesitantly. Moaning Myrtle suddenly swooped down on Harry from above, wailing loudly.

"_What did you do to my sink!_" she cried, "You've gone and _blown it up_!"

"It was an accident, I swear-"Harry began.

"I was kind enough to let you work in here, and you repay me by _destroying_ my _toilets_? It isn't enough that you make fun of me behind when I'm turned around, but you have to ruin my bathroom too!" she accused. She was waving her arms around frantically and her face had gone silvery all over. Myrtle was the ghostly epitome of livid.

"We didn't mean to, Myrtle, really-"

"Don't lie to me!" Myrtle shouted at Ron. Tears glistened in her eyes, magnified by her thick lenses. "You all just meant to make me miserable. If any of you had died, I certainly wouldn't let you haunt _my_ toilets!" Her tears came in torrents, and she flew off into her cubicle sobbing loudly. The sounds of the toilet flushing told them that she had fled through the pipes.

Hermione stood up slowly. "Don't worry about her," she said. "We can get the teachers to fix this mess, and we can just practice Potions somewhere else from now on." She looked at both boys. "Can you stand? Are any of you hurt too badly?"

Harry and Ron rose. "My head hurts, but I think I'll manage," Ron said gruffly. "How about you, Harry? Didn't catch a tap, did you?"

"No. Just some metal, that's all. It's not serious, just scratches and the like," Harry assured them. He looked at the wall, and gasped. "Bloody hell!"

An enormous hole occupied the spot where the sink had been, but that had been expected. The abnormally large pipe, big enough for a man to fit in, was not.

"That's definitely not for the sink," Hermione said quietly.

"Do you reckon it's some sort of secret passage?" Ron asked. "It looks big enough for someone to slip into."

"Harry, you were the one that had a good look at it," Hermione said, "Did you notice anything strange about the sink?"

Harry thought for a moment. "What about that snake?" he recalled. He looked at Hermione and Ron. "The one scratched on the copper tap. Could that have been some sort of clue, or trigger of some sort?"

"Salazar Slytherin's symbol on the Hogwarts crest is a snake," Hermione muttered excitedly. "And he was a Parseltongue, too!"

"That's right," Ron said slowly. "He was a Parseltongue."

Harry turned back to the wreckage in front of him. "Maybe this leads to a secret chamber of his," he concluded. The group moved closer to the hole, until all three were crouched down before it. They observed it curiously.

"I knew he was a loony," Ron said, "Putting a secret passage in the girl's toilets, honestly."

"Can you see any other snakes scratched on here?" Hermione queried. They squinted into the dark opening. Harry thought he saw something, on the roof of the pipe. He couldn't see it clearly, so he leaned closer, lifting his foot to move forward.

It all happened too suddenly for any of them to react. Harry had stepped on a piece of the sink, which slid out from under his foot, causing him to fall frontward – into the pipe. Harry yelped, and for a split second thought he was going to tumble down the pipe. Two hands grasped his right ankle in a desperate grip, and Harry was suspended in the steep, pitch black pipe.

"Harry!" Hermione cried.

"Help me out!" Harry shouted, panicked. His heart was beating at the speed of a snitch.

"Don't worry, Harry!" Ron said shakily. "We'll get you out, I promise!" Ron addressed Hermione, some of the quavering gone from his voice. "Hermione, grab me round the middle from behind. If you brace me, I'll have a better chance."

Harry heard Hermione scuttle behind Ron. His heart started to slow down, and he tried to regain control of his breathing. They would pull him out. Panicking would only make this worse.

"Harry, see if you can push against the sides," Ron instructed.

Harry brought up his heavy arms and groped the walls. He pressed his palms into them as hard as he could. Too late he felt the slippery sludge against his hands. His hands slipped and pushed him down, the grasp on his ankle suddenly slack as he pulled his friends down with him.

* * *

Neville was worried. Harry and Ron had been gone an awful long time. He wasn't too sure about Hermione, but he didn't think she had come into the Common Room all the while he had been waiting on the couch.

A couple of hours ago, Harry had come up to Neville and told him that he and Ron were going to be late to bed, because they were out studying with Hermione. "Don't bother waiting up for us," he had said, "we might be there for a long time. You know Hermione," Harry rolled his eyes, "the only thing she likes better than learning this drivel is making us learn it too." Neville had only nodded. He didn't know Hermione too well, so he had decided it was best to just agree and go along with it.

And while Neville had to admit it was pathetic that he was in the Common Room waiting for them to come back when Harry had told him not to, he had good reason for doing so. A piece of parchment that had unfinished Potions homework on it needed his attention, and frankly, Neville would have better luck trying to read Chinese than finishing it. He knew that Hermione, with her unusual grasp of knowledge, or Ron, who was on a roll with Potions, would be able to help him with it, but neither of them were coming anytime soon, it seemed.

Normally, Neville would have asked one of the other Gryffindors, but they had already fallen asleep by the time he had finally gotten around to the assignment. He also was feeling extremely lethargic, but his anxiety kept him awake and about. Except now his concern wasn't just for his work, but for his three missing classmates.

It was now twenty past eleven, and they still hadn't shown up. If they didn't get back soon, the caretaker would catch them, and Neville didn't like that thought, particularly because of the rumours that circled the torture sessions in the dungeon. But what if something had happened to them? Should he go find McGonagall and tell her about them?

Neville mentally shook his head and started up the stairs. Hogwarts was one of the safest places in the world. What could possibly happen to them that would be so dreadful? And yet...

He took one last nervous glance at the portrait hole behind him. They will come back, Neville thought. He should get some sleep and work on the assignment tomorrow. They would be fine.

* * *

Harry landed with a hard thud on a damp floor when the tunnel finally ended. Ron shot out a split second after him, landing painfully on Harry's ribs, and Hermione toppled onto both of them. All of them lay breathing heavily for a moment, covered in slime and trying to regain their orientation.

"Ooh," Hermione groaned, rolling off gently. Ron quickly followed suit. They all sat hunched over, Hermione clutching her ankle and Ron rubbing the bruise from the pot on his forehead. Harry felt like he was developing a bruise on his chest from when he landed on the ground.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, "The tunnel was too slippery, I couldn't-"

"It was an accident, Harry," Ron reassured, "You didn't mean to."

"At least you didn't fall alone," Hermione said knowingly. "That would have been scary."

The tunnel they were now in was dark, and the way ahead was pitch black. Harry wasn't sure if it would be a good idea to go any further.

"Some chamber this is," Ron spewed. "What a weirdo."

"We should try to figure out how to get out of here – oh, blast it, this darkness makes it hard for me to see where you are. _Lumos_!" The tip of Hermione's wand lit up, casting a dim light that did little to dispel the dark.

Harry got up and examined the pipe's opening, looking hopelessly up its cavernous inside. "This is too steep. We wouldn't be able to climb out of here even if it wasn't so slippery."

Ron swore and Hermione's face fell a little.

She looked around her cautiously. "I didn't expect we could. From the looks of things, my guess is that we're under the lake."

"Figures," Ron said darkly. "Reckon there's another way out of here?" He gestured towards the foreboding passage.

"Could be," Harry said, moving away from the pipe. "This is linked to the plumbing, right? We could find another way out."

"Hopefully not up any toilets."

"We can't be too picky, Ron," Hermione said. "But I think we should stay near here. Someone's bound to find the mess, and they'll know something's up if we don't return to bed on time."

"Won't Myrtle try to find someone to help us?" Ron asked.

Harry shook his head. "She didn't see us fall. She was already in her toilets, remember? Besides, Myrtle is peeved at us right now. She probably doesn't care about what happens to us now."

All three glanced to the foreboding passage ahead. Harry chewed his lip lightly, wondering what to do next.

"If we do go, I think we should mark our way back somehow," Harry said quietly. "For all we know, this could be a maze."

"Right," Hermione looked a little more nervous. "I'll do it – Ron, you use your wand for light, I'll look after the markers."

Ron quickly complied just as Hermione's light went out. Hermione mumbled to herself for a moment. Finally, an incantation was heard, and a red 'X' flew from the tip of her wand. She let out a sigh of relief.

"I wasn't sure if it would work," she admitted.

Ron led their expedition through the darkness, with Harry in the middle and Hermione at the rear, occasionally blasting an X to mark their passage. The tunnel was a dark abyss, scattered with rat's skeletons and unappetizing sludge. Harry felt his heart sink a little lower each time Hermione's markers left the safe spread of light behind, dread mounting within him.

At last, Ron shattered the eerie silence with an astonished remark.

"Oi, up ahead there –"he gestured to the front of himself, "is that a statue? Or a door of some sort, I reckon?"

When they approached the icon, they saw that it could easily be either. The intricately carved snakes glinted sinisterly in the lamp light, entwining about the ornate door – for it was unmistakably a door, as they could see the equally garnished hinges facing outwards. They stood in awe before the dark work of art, their breath leaving in short puffs of curling gray mist.

"Loony," Ron exclaimed, "only old Slytherin would put creepy snakes on his door."

"Do any of you see a handle?" Hermione asked.

"No," Harry said blankly. "Just the snakes." None of them lifted enough off of the surface to grip properly, let alone pull. Not that Harry really felt inclined to touch them. There was an odd quality of realism to the metal works; perhaps it was how their jeweled eyes winked at the trio, or how smooth and lithe their solid bodies seemed to be.

"Does that mean we're stuck here?" Harry looked around him, searching for a hidden lever, or something that would spring the door open. None of his surroundings looked too promising.

"Nobody saw any other tunnels while we were walking?" Hermione wondered. A small wrinkle formed between her eyes as she considered their options. "Maybe it's activated by a password."

"That could take days to figure out!" Ron said exasperatingly.

"Just take a guess," Harry said. "Salazar founded the Slytherin house, so why don't we use what we know about that for starters?"

Ron looked apprehensively at Hermione, and edged away until he was outside striking distance. "Mudblood?" he tried timidly, pointedly avoiding looking Hermione in the eye. Harry gasped.

"What does that mean, anyway?" Hermione continued, completely oblivious. "That Lestrange girl had called me that once before, and I haven't found it in any wizarding dictionary I've found – "

"You mean you don't know?" Ron asked, scandalized.

"Hermione, it means dirty blood," Harry explained, "it's the worst thing you can call a Muggle-born. A lot of pure-bloods think Muggles are scum, so they hate any mixes between the two."

Hermione looked down at her feet and chewed her lip. "Oh..."

"I wasn't trying to take the mickey out of you, Hermione," Ron reassured tentatively. "I just thought – since Slytherin is so... you know, that that might be the password."

"I know," she gave him a shy smile. "It was a good try, anyhow, but it didn't seem to work."

"Snake?"

"Serpent."

"Parseltongue."

They continued for the better part of an hour until they gave up on guessing, and, as Ron soon pointed out, "Who knows if there's actually anything we'd want to meet in there anyway?" Rather than trek all the way back to the entrance, they decided to spend the night in front of the door instead. The ground was drier here, giving them a better chance of lighting a proper fire. After finding out that none of them was experienced enough to transfigure something into a log, Harry generously offered his outer robe as fuel, and soon Hermione had a perpetual fire running.

"Are you sure it won't burn out while we sleep?" Ron eyed it suspiciously.

"Haven't you been paying attention in Charms?" Hermione lectured. "It won't burn out, it just needs something to start on."

"We don't need to pay attention," Harry yawned, "we have you to tell us about it, after all."

"Oh, Lord," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Just get some sleep."

"Unless any of you have something to eat?" Ron piped up hopefully. Both of his companions solemnly shook their heads.

"Maybe they'll find the hole tomorrow..." Harry pondered wistfully.

"Hopefully," Ron muttered.

* * *

As the first-years slumbered uncomfortably, the smoke from their small fire stealthily slipped through the tiny crack between the door and the wall. It wafted in measured steps, eventually making its way over to a gargantuan beast. It, too, slept, until the gray tendrils tingled its senses. The great thing stirred. Heavy eyes became alert. There was a scent of young flesh, not too far from its resting place. It rose laboriously, shaking its long hibernation.

There would be meat tonight.

* * *

The sounds of mechanical workings forced Harry to open his eyes. He thought he had been dreaming when he heard a low, menacing hiss (steam, perhaps?), but then there was some loud, clicking sounds of monstrous cogs turning, and there was no doubting that that had nothing to do with his dream at all.

"Hermione, Ron!" he whispered, not yet daring to raise his now leaden head.

"You hear that too?" came Ron's frantic voice from across the fire.

"I think the door's open," Harry commented ominously.

"_Don't move_," Hermione ordered. Something slithered by Harry's foot, and it took all of his willpower to not flinch. "It's a _snake_," she concluded frightfully, "I think – I think it's a _basilisk_."

"And what is that?" Ron squeaked.

"If you look it in the eye, you'll die. Whatever you do, make sure you don't look at its face – and watch out for its fangs, its poison is _deadly_."

"How do we get rid of it?" Harry asked, his face contorting into the most morbid fear imaginable. He _hated_ snakes.

All he received was a squeak. It had touched her. The basilisk's hiss echoed off of the tunnel walls, a sinister sound even without added definition.

Harry knew that it would soon either squeeze or bite one of them. They had to do something fast, but they were merely a small group of first-years, who were struggling to know their basic spells.

Directly in front of him was the fire – his robe was still intact, the flame merely danced on its surface, unknowing of the evil lurking around it. An idea was birthed, and Harry shifted his eyes to see where the snake was, praying he wouldn't look the wrong way.

"You two stay still," he ordered quietly. His voice was slow with measured words. "I'm going to burn its eyes out."

"Harry –"

"Are you _mad_?"

"Listen – its either this, or Hermione should cast the spell on it herself, and she may accidentally look it in the eye. If I can crawl on top of it quick enough – even just the robe would do, just enough so that its eyes are covered..."

"And I suppose we'll have to distract it?" Ron queried.

"Harry - the charm isn't able to-"

Her words were cut off by her shrill shriek as a sharp hiss sounded next to her ear. Harry, all fear forgotten by this new urgency, leapt at the beast's head furiously, grabbing the fiery robe. He moved too quickly for it to raise its eyes to meet his, and it suddenly felt Harry's arms wrung around the base of its head.

The Basilisk lunged upwards, utterly furious, and moved to smack the boy off of its head with its great tail. Harry, who was now beyond the point of hesitation, secured himself by straddling its neck with his legs, and rubbed the robe into its face. His hands felt the scorch of heat, but he ignored the flame in the frantic desperation of burning the deadly eyes.

An agonized cry rebounded on the dank walls. The Basilisk struck its head against the wall, hoping to dislodge its tormenter. But Harry held fast, gripping the robe tighter than a hell-bound broomstick. One hit smashed him square on his back. He gasped in pain as the crushing sensation surged down his spine.

"Quick, Hermione!" Ron yelped, lobbing another stone at the snake. His distraction was extremely ineffective, but he threw them with all his might. "Harry's been hurt!"

"I'm working on it!" Her reply was distressed, Harry could hear. What was she doing?

"Fetch!" she yelled. Harry couldn't bother to try and look. The Basilisk was swinging him around with a ferocity that only a wounded and desperate creature could create.

"Harry! Move your arm!"

He tried to yell back that he couldn't, not while there's a chance that the Basilisk may be able to use its eyes –

"_Do it now, Ron!_" Hermione cried, "While you still _can_!"

A sudden, searing pain exploded in Harry's arm, at the same time that the snake let loose an unearthly scream. Harry screamed along with it, from the pain and the violent jerking that sent swoops of air past his dizzy head.

After what seemed an eternity of suffering, the Basilisk relented. It fell to the ground in a slow, gliding arc. Harry tried to jump off, but his wounded arm was pinned to the beast's head, and he fell with it. When they hit the ground, Harry felt his leg become crushed under the heavy weight, and he nearly passed out at the enormity of it all.

"_Harry!_" Hermione shrieked, running over to her friend. Ron reached him first, all the colour from his face completely evacuated.

"Bloody _hell_," he sobbed. "I _told_ you move your arm..." Astonished guilt had fixed all of his features, and as Hermione approached, Harry saw that her face was covered in tears.

"Don't move, Harry," she said shakily. "That'll only make it bleed more."

Now that the battle was over, Harry decided to take a look at what had befallen his arm. Laboriously lifting his head, the grotesque sight raised the want to faint yet again.

There was the blunt end of a large, long rock protruding from his forearm. It had sunk right through it, into the Basilisk's head, and trickles of blood escaped in the tight space around the rock. Every groove of the rock pressed against a blindingly sensitive nerve in his arm, and Harry couldn't bear to look at it any longer – it had been bad enough without seeing it.

"I didn't mean to," Ron insisted dreadfully, "I didn't!"

"Just get it out," Harry gasped.

Hermione shook her head woefully. "It'll bleed more that way. We're going to have to try pulling the rock out of – (here she shuddered) the h-head."

Harry groaned. The world was twirling in circles around him. He had never been hurt this badly before, not even when his first broom had bucked him off in midair, straight over a forest.

"Ready, Ron?" Hermione had gingerly grasped the free part of the rock, and was pushing against the basilisk head with her other hand. "One, two... Ron! A little help would be appreciated!"

"What is that?" Ron said in wonder. He was looking in the opposite direction, at the mouth of the tunnel. Something glinted faintly in its depths, and Harry had to wonder for a minute where the light was coming from. But then the soft sound of feet padding on the murky floor resounded, and all three leapt to alertness.

"Hullo?" Ron called out.

"Young Mister Weasley, I presume?"

It was the Headmaster.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Hermione cried out. "You've got to help us! Harry's _hurt_!"

When he stepped into the dim light, Harry could see that he had a remarkably large and beautiful bird on his shoulder. It was a phoenix, there was no doubt, and it regarded them curiously from its perch.

"Oh my," Dumbledore exclaimed. He looked at the fallen basilisk, surprised, and then to Harry, then the still burning robes that had been cast aside in the denouement of the escapade. "It appears you aren't as safe and sound as I had hoped."

"Harry...his arm, it's..." Hermione trailed off. Dumbledore needed no indication of Harry's injuries, for he walked urgently over and knelt by his side. He swept his wand from his pocket and pointed the tip at the offending object. A spell was muttered and the rock dissipated. The air stung the walls of the gaping hole in his arm, and Harry hissed painfully.

The phoenix fluttered down beside Harry as well, and it laid its glorious head on the wound, opalescent tears dropping from its eyes. Suddenly, the hole didn't hurt as much anymore.

"Blimey," Ron whispered. Blimey was right. Harry's arm was entirely healed.

"Phoenix tears have healing properties," Dumbledore provided, and Hermione nodded her head. "I believe the next order of business is to get that Basilisk off of your leg."

Another spell was cast with the graceful flick of a wand, and the dreadful thing was heaved off slowly (even a powerful wizard like Dumbledore has trouble with lifting such a large load) and put down a few feet away from him. The mystical bird cried once more, this time resting its head on his leg until Harry could no longer tell he had been injured in the first place.

"I believe that we should make our exit?" Professor Dumbledore said placidly. He peered at Ron and Hermione over his crescent moon glasses. "Unless you two are gravely injured as well?"

Both shook their heads hesitantly.

"I shall have to award house points to each of you," the Headmaster remarked, beaming at the three. "Not only have you proved a rather stubborn myth, but you have also managed to slay a fully grown basilisk, a task many older than yourselves would have lost their lives to."

"It was Ron," Harry said quickly. "He was the one who killed it. He threw the rock at it."

Ron looked at him, befuddled. "But Harry, you –"

"You killed it."

It would feel – wrong somehow, if Harry got credit. Ron was the hero here, he hadn't really done anything.

"I believe that you all participated in the defeat of the Basilisk," Dumbledore said, his wise eyes twinkling away. "I can assume Mr. Potter risked his life to prevent it from looking you in the eye?" Harry nodded slowly. "And then Miss Granger sharpened the rock with a well executed sanding charm." Hermione beamed at this praise. "And Mr. Weasley dealt the final blow with his exceptionally good aim?" Ron smiled happily. "I think, then, that all of you managed this together, and that deserves rewarding. Fifty house points apiece sounds right."

"Fifty? "Ron gasped.

"It's a good start for Gryffindor this year, at any rate." Dumbledore raised his arm, and the phoenix fluttered back to its perch. "Come. I should return you to your housemates at once, now that the immediate danger is passed."

Hermione scuttled up to him curiously. "But Professor, how did you know we were down here?"

"Neville Longbottom informed Professor McGonagall of your absence early this morning. And when Mr. Filch went to clean out Miss Myrtle's bathroom and found the mess, it wasn't hard to guess what had happened."

They had begun to walk through the tunnel once more, the Headmaster's wand illuminating its dark corridors. Ron wrinkled his nose when he saw just how many rat skeletons were on the floor, some dismally crushed from their first trip.

"I must admit, I am wondering," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, "what were you three doing in the bathroom to create such a ruckus?"

"We were practicing Potions, and we brewed it incorrectly," Hermione stated matter-of-factly.

"I had gone to dump it down the sink," Harry admitted. "It exploded when it went down the pipe."

"So that lump of pewter I found was a cauldron, then," he mused. "I was wondering about that too."

When they had reached the end of the abyss, Dumbledore instructed them to grab onto one of Fawkes' (the phoenix, they found out) tail feathers. After he explained that the magical bird could carry exceptionally heavy loads, it became apparent that they were all going to fly out on his phoenix.

Even a broomstick couldn't compare to the sheer thrill of this ride. As chilly air swept past Harry, he couldn't help but feel uplifted. He and his friends may have just battled one of the most fearsome beasts known to wizarding kind, but everything was going to be all right.

Everything was going to be all right from now on. And that meant no more extra Potions lessons if Harry had anything to do about it.

* * *

Not my best work, probably, but I tried. What can I say? I suck at action scenes. 


	5. James 1991

Author's Notes: Yes it has been a while. Most of that time was spent bashing my head against the wall in math and chemistry, practising pickup lines that will never be used, trying desperately to fill in plot holes, straying to the Inuyasha fandom (oh, those sexy dog ears), and mourning over the tragic death in Half Blood Prince and lamenting how the new information screwed up my plot. But now I have it all sorted out, so things are good to go. Except, of course, that biology is back with a vengeance, but I'll try to squeeze around it. Besides, nothings more irritating than hiatus. Not that I expect many readers to remember this story…

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any related materials. If I did, you could expect higher quality material and more frequent updates.

After the brawl, the Slytherins seemed to have decided not to risk heckling Sirius in the open. By the end of the week, they had stopped trying to bother him at all, grudgingly accepting his placement for the time being. Sirius' mood improved without their bullying, and he was able to feel at ease within Hogwarts at last.

James' attitude wasn't too shabby either. In fact, he began to wonder why he had worried in the first place. Most of the people were downright friendly to him, and he quickly gained unusual popularity for a first-year. Being the Boy-Who-Lived had its profits, apparently. Fellow students even treated his friends with respect, something which Peter adored, puzzled Remus, and Sirius shrugged off. James suspected that Sirius was the only one used to having a gaggle of people trailing after him.

The only uneven stitch was the fact that, even after a precise explanation of James' fame, Lily Evans, the pretty redhead, didn't seem to care. Of course, James hardly expected her to be swooning at his heels, but it wasn't everyday that you met someone who had survived the deadliest wizarding curse around.

Deciding to talk to her, James approached her one Saturday afternoon in the Gryffindor common room (decked in tasteful Gryffindor red and gold, of course). She was sitting in a squishy armchair by the fireplace, pouring over a Transfiguration textbook.

"Hullo," James ventured.

She glanced up, furrowed her eyebrows, and said, "Hullo." Her vibrant green eyes returned to the pages of her book.

James shuffled his feet awkwardly. He sat down in the sofa beside her, suddenly feeling queasy. "You're Lily Evans, right?"

"I am," she responded. "And I already know that you're James Potter."

"I figured," James said. Lily leaned further over, her nose mere inches from the print.

"Um…I was, er, wondering…" James continued, intently waiting for her to move. Or something. "Did I…er, do something to offend you?" She looked up at him curiously. "Not assuming anything, of course," he blurted out. His stomach seemed to be performing acrobatics. "But you don't seem to…ah…you know…"

"Be fawning over you?" she asked, her eyebrow raised.

"No, no," James reassured. "It's just that you kind of – avoid me. Sometimes."

"You're not offending me," she said coolly, and returned to reading.

"But then, why are you-"

"I'm not trying to be rude to you," Lily stated, looking up again. "I'm just not as…_friendly_ as you are."

"Meaning?"

A frown quirked on her face. "I'm not going to follow after you because you're famous."

James was taken aback. "I don't expect you to. But does that bother you somehow?"

She sighed and closed her textbook. "I respect the fact that you are the only one to ever survive the Killing Curse, and that you defeated You-Know-Who at such a young age. I'm very sorry that you lost your parents when he attacked, I truly am. But I don't think it makes you any more important than the rest of us. You've done a great thing, but you're still a regular wizard, just like everyone else. It doesn't give you the right to parade around your popularity."

"I am not parading!" James squawked indignantly.

"You're not very humble about it," she countered.

"And I don't think that I'm better than everyone else because of what happened!"

Her eyes narrowed. "Keep telling yourself that. One day it might be true."

"It is true," James insisted. "I'm not a pig-headed git. If you bothered to talk to me once in a while, you might see that!"

"I would talk to you more if you weren't so – " she inhaled deeply, searching for the right words, "-_pompous_ about defeating a Dark Lord when you were a baby!"

"I am _not!_"

"I would be even more impressed if you did show some great talent at spells, but so far you've just been like all the rest of us first-years. Yet you think that every little magic you do is so special, and you show off to your little followers all the time, when really it's nothing special at all!" Lily's face had turned red, and she glared vehemently at him. "I would respect you if you did have some power, _and_ you were humble about it!"

James seethed for a minute. Her accusations were completely unfair. He was not pompous, and he was not a show-off. He bit his lip to keep from exploding at her stupid face. How did he ever think she was pretty?

"I don't think that I'm all powerful, for your information," he hissed. "And the only fame that I would ever want is for something that I worked for myself, not some stroke of luck that happened before I could even remember." James stalked off. Lily must have had nothing to say, for she only watched him stride angrily away with a furious stare.

_I'll show her,_ James thought as he made a beeline towards the boy's dormitories. _I'll prove that there's more to me than some deflected old curse._

He bumped into Sirius on his way up the stairs.

"Hey, James," he said casually, "Something nibbling your bum?"

"What?"

"Something bothering you?"

James shook his head. Sirius said the strangest things. "It's just that Evans girl. She's calling me pompous and a show off."

Sirius chuckled. "Pompous, eh? I believe that's Malfoy's picture in the dictionary, not yours. I'd be more concerned about her confusing you with that blond pansy. Besides, we have bigger fish to fry." He grasped James' arm and lead him back down the stairs. "What say you about…secret passage hunting?"

A smile tugged at the corners of James' mouth. "I say we hunt, my good fellow."

Sirius' teeth were bared in a mischievous grin. "Excellent."

The rest of the afternoon went splendidly. He and Sirius found around three different tunnels and corridors, all in the floor just below Gryffindor tower. They had only managed to follow two, because halfway through the third passage they realized that it was time for supper. They managed to sprint out just in time, and walked nonchalantly with the rest of the students down to the Great Hall.

"You know," James whispered, looking around to make sure that no one was watching, "we ought to mark where the passages are. They might come in handy." He caught Sirius' eye and they both grinned. It was never too early to make their first school year interesting.

"A map should do the trick," Sirius ventured. "But it has to be in some sort of code. We can't have anyone else reading it."

"We could trust Remus and Peter," James said thoughtfully. "They seem like the kind of people that would be able to keep it a secret."

"But are they pranksters?" Sirius pointed out.

James stroked a pretend beard and said, "We'll just have to find out."

Their two quiet friends had saved them each a seat. Remus was reading a Muggle book, and Peter kept on trying to read over his shoulder.

"Will you please stop?" Remus said, sighing with exasperated patience. "I'll let you read it once I'm finished."

"What is it?" Sirius asked. He snatched the book from Remus' hands, skimming over the book summary at the back.

"Hey! Give it back!" Remus protested.

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "_Lord of the Rings_, eh?" he read further, and looked at the detailed illustration on the front. "Is it just me, or are Muggles absolutely fascinated with our fine wizarding selves?"

"It's a very popular book," James said approvingly. "I've never read it before. Is it any good?"

Remus nodded shyly. "Yes. The first book is a little boring, but the last two are all right." He took the book back from Sirius and shovelled some potatoes and gravy onto his plate. "Mum's got me hooked on them. In fact, she actually ordered me to read them. She's got a whole stack of Muggle books waiting for me at home."

"You'd think she'd have had enough of books by now, what with all the stuff she's written," commented James. He took some chicken and passed the plate to Peter. "How many has she done now?"

"A lot," answered Peter.

"Speaking of your Mum," Sirius said through a mouthful of chicken, "have you read about the Gringotts break in?"

"Gringotts?" James pondered. "The wizard bank?"

Remus looked taken aback. "What's that got to do with my Mum?"

Sirius shrugged. "Nothing, of course."

Peter stared at his meat. "I thought no one was able to break in there."

"You and everyone else," Remus said.

"'Cept for the robber."

"Quite right, James," Remus agreed. "I heard that nothing was taken, though."

Sirius snorted. "The idiot broke into an empty vault. It had been cleared out before he got in there."

"What was in the vault?" James queried. "Just money?"

"Probably not. The only way for a person to just take out all their money for one outing is if they are extremely poor, or moving," reasoned Remus. "The robber would have only made the effort if he could get into a vault with some value to it, so that means it wasn't a poor person. I haven't seen any adverts about mansions for sale anywhere, and I haven't heard of any aristocrats moving out either. So, my guess is that it was an object of some sort."

"You seem to have thought this out pretty well," Sirius said suspiciously. "Are you sure you're not the thief?"

Remus snorted. "Oh yes. Schoolboy by day, burglar by night."

All of them snickered.

A sudden silence spread through the hall, drawing the boys' attention away from their meals to the head table, where the headmaster had stood up to make a speech.

"Before I send you off, I have some important news to inform you of."

"Remus really _is_ the burglar," Sirius whispered. A potato suddenly walloped his forehead.

Dumbledore continued. "There has been a Whomping Willow planted on the grounds for Herbology research. I can trust that you will all do your best to avoid it, as Whomping Willows are very dangerous. They will hit you if you come within reach, and they have a very poor temper. I advise caution to you all."

Remus seemed unusually attentive to this announcement. James and Sirius exchanged a look, while Peter munched on his supper obliviously.

James heard some muttering further down the table. Many of the students seemed confused about this new development. "First the third floor corridor, now a violent tree!" and, "I swear, somebody out there wants to see which student will be the last one standing."

He turned his attention back to his friends, perplexed. "What's a Whomping Willow?"

"A willow that whomps," Sirius explained, "obviously."

"We'd all best stay away from it," Remus said quietly. He gathered up his book and a last piece of toast before he left the hall.

Sirius watched him leave. "What's wrong with him?"

"With who?" Peter asked from his plate.

&

Classes were not very difficult, despite what Lily Evans had to say about James' magical talent. In fact, after the first few days, they had become comfortably easy. The teachers seemed pleased with James' progress. All except three. Professor McGonagall, head of Gryffindor she may be, treated all her students the same. She could care less about James' fame, and she cared even less about which house a student came from. This earned her several degrees of respect amongst the students, even with some of the Slytherins. Then there was Professor Binns, the History of Magic professor. He was a ghost and had taught all of his life and after life, so it wasn't surprising no longer could tell the difference between one student and another. It didn't really matter to James anyway, since History of Magic was as dull as Geography had been back at the orphanage.

And then there was the pallid Professor Snape, the Potions Master. He didn't favour him, like McGonagall and Binns, but he didn't disregard him either. Snape simply didn't like him. On his very first day in Potions, he had deliberately tried to stump James by asking him random questions from the textbook. James failed to answer all of them correctly, much to the Professor's delight. It infuriated James to think that the man expected him to memorize the entire book, yet skimmed over any error made by even the stupidest of the Slytherins. It was true that Snape held no favour for any Gryffindor, but he disliked James more than the others. Unfortunately, he included Sirius and the others in his contempt, just because they chose to associate with James. When James was complaining about it, Remus shook his head and explained.

"Your dad and him never got along back in school. Mum told me they fought all the time."

"Did my dad kick his –"

"They argued. Snape wouldn't have stood a chance in a fistfight."

"Bugger."

Besides hating James, Snape adored the Slytherins. Lucius Malfoy was a particular favourite of his. Snape relished contrasting the two, pointing out faults both real and imagined in James' concoction and praising Malfoy's endlessly.

"This is stupid," James said bitterly after one lesson, trying his hardest to ignore the cocky look Malfoy sent his way. "There was nothing wrong with that one, I'm sure of it."

"He's never going to like you James," Sirius said frankly. "Just face it. You could make the best potion in the world, and he would grade Malfoy's pig slop better than yours."

Still, James thought, what if he did manage to do perfectly in Potions? It might not make the git like him, but it would certainly make James feel better about it. After all, what else could you do about an insult but prove it wrong?

That night, when the four of them were sitting around the fire, Sirius and James decided to test their two comrades.

"Honestly," yawned Peter, "What are we waiting up for? We've finished our homework and whatnot –"

James shushed him. Remus and Peter simultaneously furrowed their eyebrows.

"Look at dear little Evans," Sirius said in a motherly voice. Lily was currently hunched over her parchment, scribbling fervently. "Isn't she a busy little bee. She'll get right worn out if she works much longer."

As Sirius said this, Lily went to dip her quill in the ink bottle. A cloud of grey smoke exploded in her face. She reeled back, fell on the floor, and laid there, sprawled out in a blissful sleep.

The boys tried their hardest to contain their laughter, but it was too irresistible when Lily began to snore softly. They guffawed heartily, watching her snooze happily away. Fortunately, everyone else had gone to bed already, or they would have been reported to a prefect in an instant.

"Slumber potion from Wednesday," James clarified once the laughter had died down. "We couldn't resist keeping a bit for ourselves."

"That was great!" Peter blurted out. He could barely contain his excitement.

"How did you get it in the ink bottle?" Remus asked.

"It's a secret," supplied Sirius, winking.

James pretended to look at his fingernails nonchalantly. "We _could_ tell you, but that all depends."

"On what?" Peter asked eagerly.

"If you're willing to keep quiet about it," Sirius said, his tone serious. "If we include you on the next prank, then you have to agree not to tattle on us. Or tell anyone how we did it."

Peter and Remus looked at each other. It was easy to tell that Peter was more than willing to comply, but Remus' face was unreadable.

"So," James persisted, "do you swear to secrecy?"

Peter nodded so enthusiastically James thought that the boy's head might fall off. "Yes, yes! Of course!"

Sirius grinned at him, then looked at Remus, expecting the same sort of response. However, Remus remained withdrawn. Sirius began to frown as Remus thought for a while.

"I think –" Remus started. "I mean, I won't tell anyone about anything. But I don't think that I should help you with it. We might get in trouble, and I couldn't…"

"What are you saying?" James said. "We won't get caught. We'll be careful. Besides, it's not like we're going to do anything illegal."

"I know," Remus said, looking at them worriedly. "But there's…I just can't do it. I can't afford to be caught."

"Why?" Sirius said. "All you'd get is a detention –"

"It's not just that!" Remus snapped. All of them were taken aback, staring at their normally mild-mannered friend. "My family – my mum – and Dumbledore…" He made a face. "Forget it. You wouldn't understand."

He turned and made for the dormitories sullenly. Peter called after him.

"Remus?"

But he didn't answer. They heard the door open, then close, and silence was cast about the Common Room. Lily's subtle snoring rumbled on ignored as the three remaining boys shared glances both worried and perplexed.

"There's something he's not telling us," Sirius said darkly, but his expression was still concerned.

"You don't think" Peter said timidly, "that maybe it's something to do with his dad?"

James and Sirius shrugged.

"Maybe, but Sirius' entire family is more suspicious than Remus' dad," James pointed out. "No offence."

"None taken."

"But what else could it be?" Peter mused. He began to absently chew on his fingernail.

"He's not really poor, is he?" James asked. "His mum did write an awful lot of books."

"No, he's not. But that would make sense if it was true," Sirius said. "He wouldn't want to blow his chance at school if he could barely afford it."

James furrowed his eyebrows. "Maybe he's just worried about getting caught. He might feel like he has to obey all the rules, or something."

"We should ask one of his cousins," Sirius concluded. All of them nodded complacently. After all, with so many relatives at Hogwarts, one of them was bound to know what was wrong with him.

&

Breakfast was ate in contemplative silence, despite the cheerful normalcy around them. Apprehensive, James cautiously tried to sit near Remus, who was once more engaged in his novel.

"Hullo," he ventured. Remus looked up from his book reclusively. _At least he doesn't look mad,_ James thought, disheartened.

"Oh, hi," Remus said quietly. James stood still, feeling very stupid. "You can sit down," Remus added quickly. "That is, if you want."

James sat down awkwardly, and chewed on his lip.

"Look, I'm sorry if we offended you or something," he began. Remus waved him off.

"No, it's not your fault," Remus sighed. "I overreacted. I'm just not a prankster. You can go for it, though." He swirled a sausage on his plate with his fork, abashed. "Besides, Mum would kill me."

James smiled. "All right."

Peter came in a bit later, and sat down across from James. After his unsure glance to Remus, James explained.

"He's not angry." Peter still looked wary, so Remus flashed him a little smile. Peter returned it, and become noticeably more comfortable after that. Sirius instantly accepted the situation upon seeing the three of them sitting together.

"All made-up, I see?" he commented, sliding in beside Peter.

"I'm just not a prankster."

Sirius nodded. "We understand." He reached over to cuff Remus lightly on the back of the head. "Someone has to be the sourpuss." A bit of egg was launched his way in reply.

The rest of breakfast went on quite pleasantly. It was made all the more sweeter when Lily Evans, donning mussed up hair and yesterday's robes, stumbled into the Great Hall.

Sirius chuckled, and James attempted to keep a straight face. She sat down with the other first year girls, where they fussed over her unkempt appearance.

"Hey, Evans!" Sirius called out. Mystified, she turned to face him. "Have a good sleep?"

As Peter, Remus, and James all started to snicker, her eyes widened, then narrowed to venomous slits. She scoffed and whirled back around, determined to ignore them.

"Will she tell on us?" Peter asked, suddenly nervous.

"What proof does she have?" Sirius said calmly. "Besides, Remus couldn't have done it. He was off looking for the people who emptied the vault."

After James had finished off the last of his sausages and potatoes, he told the others that he had to use the washroom. Sirius took the hint, and followed James under the pretence that he also had to make a trip to the boy's room. Once safely out of sight, they began to search for a head of vibrant red hair.

"Statistically," Sirius said matter-of-factly, "the Weasley clan makes up one twentieth of the Hogwarts population, so we should really have no trouble finding one."

"There aren't that many Weasleys," James insisted.

"Au contraire, my good fellow," Sirius continued. "Remus has around seven sets of aunties and uncles. And most of them had at the very least three kids. I think it's pretty safe to say that there's an abundance of ickle redheads."

"One of those 'ickle redheads' beat you ten times at arm wrestling the other day."

Sirius ignored this. "Good, let's look for her then."

They had gone through five corridors before deciding that checking the grounds might be more fruitful, seeing how students didn't take walks to their classrooms on their days off. There they found not one but five Weasley cousins, all casting breadcrumb offerings to the giant squid. Regrettably, the second-year girl who had been victorious against Sirius was not amongst them.

"Hullo, Potter, Black," said the tallest, a fourth year boy with a wide nose called Rupert. "Where's Remus? And the little one always tagging along with you…"

"Pettigrew?" another ventured.

"Yes, him," Rupert said. "Where are they?"

"Off doing homework."

Kent, the third year with shaggy, dog-like hair, shook his head and clucked his tongue. "Shameful. Dad always said that Aunt Hermione made him read too much as a child."

"At least she didn't wait 'til he was nine," Rupert countered.

"I knew how to read before that!"

"Yeah, just enough to know what the labels on your dad's products said."

Ignatius, the smallest but most mischievous of the bunch, threw a bit of bread wrapped around a rock into the lake. "I can't believe he actually let you test them."

"Luck of the draw," Kent said simply. "I got ol' George, and you got Uncle Percy, that's all."

"Ahem." The attention returned to James and Sirius. "Not to interrupt, or anything, but we need to ask you something about Remus."

The mood suddenly tensed tenfold, and James suddenly wished he hadn't spoken at all.

"What is it?" Rupert asked, his voice devoid of any tone.

"He seems a little worried, and…"

"Uptight?" Sirius provided.

James gave him a withering look. "Not uptight so much, just very rule – er – abiding. He got upset last night over a just little joke. Is there any reason why he might be afraid to-"

"His mum," the Weasleys all said. They turned their attention back to the lake.

Sirius and James exchanged glances. "Are you sure that's all?" Sirius pressed.

"She's got a tight reign on him."

"Just let him be. It's his choice."

"Not really, but –" The rock he had hidden in the bread was suddenly pelted at Ignatius' face, cutting him off tantalisingly mid-sentence.

Another redhead with almost invisible lips, Conlan, perhaps, looked reproachfully at his cousin – or brother – and said, "All there is to it. Auntie Granger got him on a leash, s'all."

James raised one eyebrow. He didn't really buy it, but what could he do? Their lips were sealed. With one last look at the tentacle retreating into the lake and at the passive faces before him, he bid the Weasleys farewell and walked contemplatively back to the castle with Sirius.

"Tight knit, that family," Sirius mumbled. "Doubt that we'd get much more from any of the others."

"But they were hiding something, weren't they," James whispered darkly. He didn't like it when people kept secrets from him. They nagged at the back of his head for weeks until he could do nothing but try to blow away whatever cover there was.

"I wasn't sure about it before, but now," Sirius threw a furtive glance at the group by the lake. "Definitely. You can't hide a lie from a professional."

James recalled a psychology special he had seen once on the television. "I heard that when people lie, they look to the left."

"Were they?"

"I don't know. I didn't remember it until now."

Sirius blew a frustrated hiss upon the air. "Well, it sounded like a lie, so we'll just say it is." He opened the doors to the Entrance Hall and they slipped inside. "If we keep an eye out, something's bound to slip."

"Or we could shine a very bright light in his eyes and yell at him until he cracks," James said placidly. Sirius stared quizzically at him.

"Are you saying he's a _vampire_?" he asked incredulously.

"No. It's a police tactic. It works on the television all the time."

Sirius shook his head. "Muggles. It's weird, some of the thing they do to make up for magic. Veritaserum would work better."

"Vera-what now?"

"A truth potion," his friend provided. His words became quieter as a gaggle of Hufflepuff girls tittered by. "Pretty powerful stuff. Mum used it on me once when I nicked a pastry before supper. Wasteful, really. She should have used it to see what cousin Marius really did in Borgin and Burkes. Bet that'd be a bit more interesting." Here Sirius gazed into the distance, looking wistful.

But James wasn't quite as interested in Marius' shady doings. "A truth potion?" he repeated thoughtfully. "Could we get some?"

"Sure!" Sirius said with an all too wide grin. "All we have to is wait 'til we're finished school, go through Auror training, and make sure we sit in on a murder trial so we can nick some!" Sirius ignored the unimpressed glower sent in his direction, adding with flourish, "It's _perfect_."

"You could have just said we couldn't get some," James said irritably.

"But now we have a plan for the next ten years," Sirius asserted. "Who else can honestly say that?"

"I guess we'll just go to the old standby, then," James sighed.

"Extendable Ears?"

"Precisely."


End file.
